Second Helpings

Something Bootiful

It was a pleasant if tiring weekend trip to London, but back to Monday and supermarket mayhem arrived too quickly. Jersey Boys was enjoyable but not the best stage show I've ever seen. Both my friend and I had colds start before the weekend which put the dampers on things a little. We spent too much time on coaches, the weather was unpleasantly cold and the very early mornings not to my liking at all. But you know me, never one to complain.

The three previous days spent with my sis were equally hectic, but very enjoyable. Our private readings were very interesting, painfully accurate in parts but laughably inaccurate in others. We spent a lovely day with friends in Newark on Friday before sis had to return home.

I guess now it will be a case of Humbug for breakfast, dinner and tea until all the hype is over and we're all left wondering what the heck that was all about yet again. Hubby keeps asking me what I want as a present, but I keep saying there's nothing I really want that money can buy. Waxing philosophical is something that comes with age I suspect.

However, while my sister was here I told her I wanted to pop into our local branch of Boots the chemist to enquire about a natural sleeping aid I'd seen advertised on television. It's only a small shop, so I wasn't surprised when the girl behind the counter informed me she hadn't heard of the product but would go and ask the pharmacist.

The pharmacist walked over and behind the counter stood an apparition sent from old ladies fantasy heaven. Long, black wavy hair, so shiny it almost blinded me. Big brown eyes so kind and beautiful I was hypnotised. Good looking an inadequate description and when he opened his mouth to speak, a voice to match the perfect vision.

Mesmerised, I didn't hear a bloody word he was saying, but came away clutching my purchase and vowing to find a reason to return to ask his advice on something at least once a day for the forseeable future. Hell, I'm sure they didn't make men like that in my day.

So now I could tell hubby there's something I'd like for Christmas in our local Boots the chemist. No need to wrap it - in fact it would be far more appreciated unwrapped. I'm not sure how much it costs, but I'm certain hubby wouldn't be too pleased if he discovered it was actually the pharmacist himself.

No harm in dreaming is there? Growing more philosophical with age is okay, but I'd rather be twenty years younger and working behind the counter in our local Boots the chemist.