Someone threw out my precious magazine a few days ago. I didn't notice it for several days, but it was precious just the same, because it had a GLOSSY cover, and it came in the post, BY MAIL (instead of being thrown in the gutter by an inept paper-person - gender niceties preserved - or being inserted into the weekend newspaper by a furniture company.)
And any magazine which falls into this category counts as precious to me.
I was outraged, and insulted, so much so that when I noticed it at 1am, a time when I was scruffling about for reading material, I took a torch and searched for it in the big recycling bin.
There's a huge number of ants crawling about there, and decomposing newspapers and tissue boxes. Still, I ploughed on.
If I found the magazine, I probably would have thrown up on it, and it wouldn't have been fit to bring inside the house unless I'd wrapped myself in a plastic sheath for the hygiene safety of other house-dwellers, and I would have contracted leprosy, and had to throw the magazine out again soon after. Still, the search for the LOST MAGAZINE became more and more frantic.
The more it stinks, the more I scramble after it. There's a metaphor for life in there somewhere.
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3 comments:
What magazine? Maybe one of us has a spare copy? Could save you contracting garbage-bin-scented cholera.
Amazingly, recently after the garbage-climbing experience, I've had comments about the recent improvement on my body odour.
Perhaps I should start marketing a 'Garbage Bin Scent' - well, at least to myself.
(Ohhh, and I went to another interview today, a rather small law firm where the interviewee kept a small dog. She says her dog either likes the candidates or not, and that decides a lot of the interview. One whiff and I passed the test! I recommend garbage climbing if sniffer dogs are to be on an interviewing panel. I'm just hoping my competitors haven't lost something in a sewerage pipe just before the interview - they may pip me at the finishing post.)
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