One laundry day, a few months ago, I was wearing the polarfleece with my employer’s logo on it. The lady at the Chinese laundry saw it and got rather excited.
She asked me if I was on television or… you know, the other sort of television job. I think I disappointed her when I revealed that I was not a glamorous TV star.
But since then, she’s sort of eager to talk with me about the telly.
Today she told me that she’d seen the John man at Mt Roskill interviewing Don Brash. The John man is taller and much more handsome in person than he is on the telly. I said that once I saw him at the supermarket pushing a trolley around.
She also said that about a year ago, she’d seen the lady who sits with John sometimes (the Carol), and that this lady was much slimmer and more beautiful than she looked on TV.
“Aye,” I said, in my head. “Television is a cruel mistress.”
I don’t normally put stuff in the pockets of my jeans, but yesterday I put a tube of lipstick in a pocket. Then today, when I was gathering up my clothes to put in the laundry basket, I was distracted and just put the jeans in the basket without checking the pockets.
When I picked up my washing from the Chinese laundry, the lady showed me the delightful sparkling dark golden smudges all over my clothes. Oh crap.
I’m going to have to retire a couple of tops, but fortunately my jeans aren’t too badly effected. The glitter is easy to get rid of, it’s the greasy base that’s going to be harder. I’m glad it was mostly fair cheap or old clothing, stuff like my gym gear that would have been replaced soon enough anyway.
But it really sucks to have to deal with a basket full of stained clothing.
As a pleasant distraction from the troubles of this world, here is a photo taken down at the local fruit shop:
Wheel alignment: yes
Warrant o’ fitness: yes
And there’s cold beer in the fridge.
I was stopped at some traffic lights and I happened to glance at the vehicle registration card, stuck to the windscreen in its little plastic sleeve. I was trying to read the expiry date, which was a little hard to do because it was backwards and slightly obscured by a seatbelt reminder message printed on the plastic sleeve. But from what I could see, the registration expired in August, Ok, cool. Then I looked closer. August 2002. Uh oh.
So I after I dropped my clothes off at the Chinese laundry I went off to the vehicle testing station to get a warrant of fitness. My car failed that because the two front tyres were worn. Over at the tyre place down the road I discovered that they were so worn that there were bits of non-rubber stuff showing through. The tyre guy said it was due to the wheels not being aligned properly. So new tyres today, alignment tomorrow and then I should be able to get a warrant of fitness and then get the registration.
While I was waiting for the new tyres to be fitted I read a book in that park in Kingsland. It was nice (both the book and the park). Waiting to get the tyres done also meant that I didn’t get to pick up my washing before the laundry closed. So until tomorrow I’m stuck in my laundry day clothes, which feels feels a little strange.
Some girls dream of having a sugar daddy who’ll buy them jewellery and take them out to dinner at expensive restaurants. I wouldn’t mind a sugar daddy who’ll buy me tyres and pay for wheel alignment, man.