Genetic traits

I was doing grocery shopping yesterday and I needed apples. Not a problem, right? Wrong. Wrong because of my family's genetic malfunction which sees us tearing down delicate food displays. Back in the old country, I remember my Nan (God rest her soul) picking out a tin of tomato soup from the middle of the stack and the whole thing collapsing like one of those tower blocks on a Discovery Channel demolition show. Of course, the most memorable thing was Nan looking around like she was looking for the vandal who'd pulled down the stack of Heinz soup.

So, I think you can see how this went down. There I was, picking out apples and then it happened...I picked out the most strategically placed apple in the whole stack. The apples tumbled to the floor in a shiny green avalanche I was powerless to stop. I crouched to the floor to pick up the now slightly bruised fruit, returning them to the wood display box (let this be a lesson to you: always was your apples) and kicked a few of the deceased under the box...see, not THAT many fell on the floor, kindly shopkeeper.

I went to the gym around lunchtime and when I left, there was a message from Mum on my cell phone. "Your father's not feeling well. Can you take me to the mall?" I don't know why Dad keeps up the "I'm not well" charade on a Saturday afternoon - we all know he just fancies a kip on the sofa. Anyways, when I take Mum to the mall, I do get a free cup of coffee...albeit crappy mall coffee. But it's caffeine, which makes it good. And it's free which makes it pretty damn great.

Off to the mall we went. As we walked along, my tiny Mum gave me a sharp elbow to the ribs (a pretty good way to get my attention when I am otherwise distracted) and pointed at a woman. A woman dressed like a refugee from a 1960s sci-fi show. Think Lost in Space. Think all that velour on ONE person. Red velour. But what got me the most was the red shoes. I turned to Mum and said, "We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto!" Sadly, it was then a second genetic malfunction kicked: I had placed my size 13 into my mouth. See, I said my rather witty pop-culture-comment a bit too loud (add to that my unmistakable accent) and Ms. Lost in Space gave me an icy, icy cold stare. Like one of those super-power stares that can kill people at 20 yards. Seriously, folks, if looks could kill, I'd be dead.

I think there should be a dress code at shopping malls - it would stop incidents like this happening. Have some burly ex-linebacker with a dodgy knee at the automatic sliding doors, turning away people who have obviously NOT looked in the mirror before leaving the house. It would be better all around.