Walking through a local supermarket one o-so-blissfully
spent Saturday afternoon (yes, sarcasm very much implied), Satan herself,
otherwise known as my girlfriend on less friendly occasions shouted from the
cheese aisle, “How much are we on?”. Enter the human calculator. I had one
beer, not so much to wreck a car, but get one bloody small calculation wrong
and you were in for a far worse time than trying to claim from your insurance.
“About R 550 babes, give or take”, (take-a-lot - copy write infringement not
meant, promise), whispered into my left sleeve, an old man walking by
sniggering at youth’s stupidity. “Help me”, whispered much louder.
“Are you sure that’s correct?” a warbled shout’s directed
towards me from between different packets of shoulder and lean bacon, take your
pick.
“How would you know anyway, you forgot the list?” I parry.
Immediately realising my mistake, I start formulating an exit strategy only to
realise the futility of it all owing to the congregation crowded around the
’past its expiration date’ sale display. Shit, foiled by my own stupidity. Why’s
everything gone so dark all of a sudden?
Typing here with two fingers and a slightly off-centre nose,
I’m pondering the usefulness of a list. The futility thereof could quite
ironically be proven by making another list, but hey, let’s not tempt fate
here. My medical aid’s already depleted as it is, and I’m no Mike Tyson. Ask my
half Portuguese half Coloured girlfriend. Surely you get the point after the
previous sentence. So now I’m left with two quite glaring character flaws to
face. Number one; is sarcasm the correct way of handling any situation. Number
two; should I ever, EVER in the history of all mankind dare try to criticize a
list surely to be forgotten somewhere in the mysterious realm where all single
socks are left.
Fuck it, you only live once anyway. And who’d want to give up
sarcasm after living with it as a long lost brother for most of your life?So,
as a last request/parting gift/last will and testament, please find below my
list pertaining to the futility of the latter (ha, try to figure that one out.
Dammit, idiot, shut up)
1.
If ever found in the possession of a list, and
you’re a male, call Myth Busters. Men are hunter gatherers, why on earth create
a list. You think Homo erectus made
cave paintings of which buck to hunt first? I think not.
2.
If you realise your lady companion has forgotten
her meticulously created list, at all costs, do not flaunt this fact. Homo erectus was smart enough to go hunt
so doing getting out of the cave, don’t get ensnared in this 21th century
trickery.
3.
Buy neither a special book for lists nor a black
board for making notes. The book will only be forgotten in some dark recesses
of a cupboard and the black board will only be used by humorous friends
depicting penises or vulgar terms (He-he. Ahem, sorry) – reference to the Homo erectus cave paintings and the blackboard
fully implied, really…
4.
Lastly, only to emphasize the stupidity of a
list, I’ve created a fourth point without a point.
Lists are lifeless, soul-sucking activities only reinforcing
our predisposition towards creating order in a life so full wonders; why in the
hell create a stupid list in the first place. Enjoy life, live it to the
fullest, play Russian roulette with the expiry date of your milk and dare I say
it, forget a condiment or two once in a while.
