Monday, 29 April 2013

Shopping With Pommy Paul

You know when you go to the office Christmas party and there’s always some idiot in the corner that insists on dancing on the table with his pants around his ankles and tops it off with a floral lampshade on his head?  Let me introduce you to my good friend Pommy Paul, Merry Christmas.

Yep, that’s right.  Every year without fail, he manages to make a complete and utter idiot of himself at the Christmas party (and that even includes all of those years he was unemployed and crashed Centrelink’s Christmas function.

Every December he promises himself that this year it will be different, and then every year, the Christmas spirit enters him, followed by the Christmas wine, the Christmas beer, and suddenly he’s back on the table looking like Ned Kelly.

Of course the root of most of the problem can be traced back to two simple words – free beer.  And if there’s one thing that the Christmas party is all about, it’s free food and booze.  In fact, he even has a formula for working out how much he should eat and drink.  First, take the amount of money he thinks he should be paid for his job, then subtracts the amount he actually does get paid and the number he has left over is how much he has to eat and drink in free booze and nibbles to get even.

And, he says, if he feels like a little bonus and the boss isn’t forthcoming, he steals a bit of stationery on the way out.

Well, I took lovely Paul shopping yesterday.  Why do men hate shopping with women so much?  We were talking about it and Paul said that he knows why women like to take men shopping.  It combines two of our favourite activities – buying stuff and seeing their male partners miserable.  He also says that it’s because we shop differently.  Women will happily window shop for hours, whereas the only time you’ll hear a man say he’s going window shopping is when he has a big hole in the wall of his house and he wants a sheet of glass to stop the wind blowing over his beer. 

Anyway, I wanted a new outfit for my trip to the casino today. You know what I like about shopping here?  My size is different at every clothes shop.  From shop to shop, I can be a 10, 32 or 1.  It makes you feel good when you go from one shop where you are a 10 to the next where you are a 1.  Wow, 9 sizes in 10 steps.  Stick that in your health drinks, Jenny Craig!

Right, I’m going to tell about the funniest thing that's ever happened to us.

Paul and I were in the car going to do said shopping, and we were hailed by this old fellow.  His wife was sitting in their car and the bonnet was up.  He looked at Paul and said "You got jump leads, mate?"  Apparently they had left their lights on etc etc.  Dead now.  Need jump leads, need a good Samaritan, need a friendly hand from someone who looks like he knows what to do with jump leads.  And the good fairy of fate placed them in Paul’s hands!  Men are supposed know about cars and cables.  It's supposed to be in the genetic code, right?  Then there's Paul, and if it's under the hood of a car - it's voodoo Jack, and that's the end of it.

I started laughing when Paul came back to the car and said "the guy only asked me if I had leads, he didn't ask me if I knew how to use them!" And I'm still laughing.  Anyway, I got out of the car and looked under his hood and there's no battery.  "There you go" says I "someone's stolen your battery"  By this stage the wife had gotten out of their car and said that the battery was under the back seat.  Of course. Where else would it be. I looked and sure enough, there it was. 

This guy then made the statement of the century.  He said something like "I took auto mechanics and sex education at the same time at tech. college and they've been confused in my mind ever since, when it came to where things were and what you did to get any action out of them".  We all thought that was hilarious.  His wife didn't.  She pulled out the manual and started thumbing through it.

Anyway, the sum of our knowledge was that positives and negatives were involved and one of the cars had to be running.  Paul thought the other guy knew what he was doing and kind of went along with it.  Guess the other guy thought the same.  When it was all hooked up, they turned the ignition keys in both cars at the same time and there was this electrical arc between the cars that knocked Paul’s baseball cap off and practically fried both cars.
We all sat down on the grass and the boys were in total awe of what they had accomplished.  I had to leave, I was in total hysterics, and his wife went off to try to find some semi-intelligent help. 

What a day!!!  Just don't ask us for help.

No comments:

Post a Comment