My daughter is fascinated with Richard. She always wants to see what's inside him. Sometimes she finds tissues and sometimes she finds food scraps. I suppose Richard thinks a lot about food. Maybe he's crying on the inside. I don't know. I try to tell my daughter off whenever she goes though the contents of Richard but she can't speak so I imagine she just thinks I'm making a series of funny noises (which is actually what I'm doing I suppose).
I do my best to keep Richard safe as I think the contents of people's souls should generally be left unmolested, but Eleanor is a tricky customer and I'm pretty slow moving so accidents happen. I will do my best.
12 comments:
I used to be what? Just because you are running out of original ideas in which to mock each other, don't start naming my after your grooming impliments. I am of course refering to the comment you made on Richard's blog. You will have to name what I have done to deserve this.
Susan
P.s. My compost bin is now refered to as JY and I have to hold my breath each time I empty it into the big compost bin, which is infestated with worms.
I meant JP (same thing)
Eleanor is really starting to bug me. It's not really the taking bits of my soul but the way she lifts the lid without standing on my foot. I'm not a bloody toilet! I have a mechanism that is there for a reason... it's how I work deep down. It's my culture. It's what defines me as a kitchen rubbish bin. Otherwise I might as well just be a big fucking wheelie bin! Talk to her, JY. Please. Otherwise when teacher me comes to tea he will do a scary old man's laugh at bedtime.
Susan,
You're abusing JY for something he said on another blog. That's not really cricket.
It's not quantity but quality that really counts when one imagines bins. Even rubbish goes through a life cycle. A kitchen bin contains rubbish that was recently food, or yucky stuff that was recently mucus that was good enough to put your mouth near when it was up your spouse's nose. Even banana skins are full of nutrients in this early stage of having parted company with the middle bit of a banana. Then rubbish, as we call it, is taken outside to something like a wheelie bin. This is where the rot sets in, especially on a lovely summer's day.
To call all recepticals 'rubbish bins' is very misleading. I suppose it's like comparing a mechanic to a brain surgeon. When Eleanor puts her hand into me, what she chooses is probably more hygenic than one of those lucky dips at a travelling circus. After all, most of my soul has only been touched by her parents. If Eleanor could be trained to use the pedal, I would feel more at peace with myself. Look on me not as a rubbish bin, but a second chance to nourish your daughter.
Yours sincerely,
Richard (the bin)
Oh Richard, just stop writng comments, you have scared JP away. Go back to being a relationship counsellor (although it is hard to tell which you are worse at).
Cricket rules are made for breaking
Susan
Susan backwards is nasus, which could mean something silly in Latin.
Both hard at work I see.
What's so bad about being a disposable razor in a previous life? I was a serviette at the Cobb and Co. in New Plymouth.
Anyway, you must have been a fantastic razor because you came back as an English teacher (although if you'd been really good you would have come back as a Social Studies teacher... still, better than "teaching" music).
Richard, I will talk to Eleanor but she will ignore me.
Nasus means nose or snout.
Dr. Ahcir invented the pedal bin.
know all!
I knew you would say that.
I cannot think of what you must have done that was so 'good' as a paper napkin that gave you the reward of becoming a social studies teacher. Perhaps you mopped spilt cask wine off the floor without leaving a stain? Or did you managed to in one wipe clean a baby's messy face? Or one night there was no toilet paper...
Susan
Actually I was just folded really nicely into the shape of a swan.
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