Trassie
I am sure that when I was in Junior High School, there was some sort of education Programme specifically dedicated to the girls. We boys were out, legally battering ourselves, playing rugby. Getting quite filthy and a little bit bloody. The girls on the other hand went through those mystery double doors to their gym and I am convinced into another world. This world was one where they are taught to baffle the innocent and blunt minds of us boys. I can understand what you might be thinking, this is a weird start to a blog. A little worrying too.
Well have you ever wondered why your wife or girlfriend hides things from you, you know, when you get your clothes off and leave them by the bed, they vanish! Much the same seems to happen with wallets and keys and any other accessories that you carefully locate in ready use positions. It becomes a major search operation when you need to pop out for a pint or to nip to the shops. Where on earth did I put my keys? Well, as I intimated, the special lessons that girls seem to have got instead of PE is my theory on that.
In Search of The Holy Grail
I have been on many quests in my time and I think in some cases I would have more success searching for the Jabberwocky in the local supermarket than the sort of things I am asked to find by my dear and loving wife. An had particularly good lessons as she writes her quests in some kind of code and I don't mean Dutch. The latest variant is Trassi, I am convinced it does not exist, although she showed me a rather convincing photo of something. Trassi, it would seem, is shrimp paste, although God forbid that it can be described as shrimp paste. I mean that might give me a clue about where to look or even what sort of pictures might be on the package.
I searched, in vain, in one shop and had almost given up in another shop. You know that fruitless feeling when you approach your fellow man and say, "excuse me, do you have any Trassi?" The desperate look in the eyes as they flash from left to right, the panic, the fear, the empathy as he realises that this is another case of man being sent on hopeless quest to find obscure and almost non-existent things. Like being asked to buy some mahogany varnish and looking on in fear at the metres and metres of shelves topped up with tins of variations on mahogany varnish (I was only young, but the trauma comes back in flashes of sweat and shivering).
Is it a conspiracy, you know, like calling yellow paint, lemon, canary, citrine or straw. It's bloody yella man, haway! (said in a frustrated and pained Geordie accent). I am sure TV chefs have only added to this by seeking ever more elaborate ways to describe a bit of beef with some vegetables.
So I think as well as the you've never heard of it foodstuffs that we are sent for, they must also have cunning lessons where they feign ignorance when it comes to more technical things, like how to change a wheel on a car or put a shelf up. I mean it can't be, in this age of equality and fairness that we still have such stereotypical roles to perform?
Recently I was asked if I had put a wash through a pre-wash cycle, to which I avoided the typical answer, "what is a pre-wash?" Apparently if particularly soiled, you can pre-wash the clothes or, in my case, you just wash them then do them again if needed.
Back to the case in hand, there are some circumstances where I am sent on these quests and I do genuinely feel like one of King Arthur's knights when I return with the sacred prizes. Sadly this does not get the recognition that I would expect, but then I did not have to slay any dragons or knights to acquire the said prizes, unless that includes trolley jousting of course.
