“Fresh~!” she squawked, slapping my face hard enough to dislodge three teeth and one evil grin … hah, you wish.
This is not one of them unsavoury blogs, so you’ll never get to hear the rest of it. On with the weekly photo challenge instead—
THERE’S MORE THAN ONE
meaning to the word ‘fresh’. I’m going to take it in the context of newly minted, as in very newly minted.
TODAY IN TOWN
it was wet.
The breezes such as there were came out of the deep south, cold, and wet-wet-wet.
We drove through wet to get there and got out of the wet car into wet. Wets were falling with mad rapturous abandonment and little wets collecting on the roof after we’d parked, and here some of them are—
—lovely fresh wets. You don’t get no fresher than that, ‘cos they blow off in the slipstream when moving (ergo these are your genuine brand-new wets) (I’d sell ’em on e-Bay and TradeMe except for the packaging problem).
we guzzled coffee then went on to The Spouse’s favourite op shoppes but I bounced off of the second one (St Johns). Read on …
To set the scene: a top-gun sales swine went through Southland some months ago pushing those little automatic air polluter things to all the shops. ‘Nuff said.
I have a problem in
some many of the shops in that I have a limited ‘stay time’ but wrt to St Johns I couldn’t even get past the door. A solid wall of fumes from a battery of artificial air fresheners (freshener? Ye gods …) with a stench that’d drop a charging camel at a hundred paces; I never faltered, I just did an about-face on the hoof and went back out. In years to come there’ll be a major outbreak of respiratory problems down here, so the vaunted healthy freshness of the fresh Southern air ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. Not in the blasted shops at any rate.
So in a loitering pattern outside I spotted ‘fresh’ being generated right before my very eyes—
—and several minutes of observation enabled me to calculate that the average freshly minted bubble had a life expectancy of no more than four or five seconds. Most of the little buggers were popping in and out of existence too quickly for me to get a focus so I cheated and just kept snapping the same stretch of water; a numbers-game that paid off.
Finally I got some.
I think the most geriatric of them lasted about fourteen seconds but the camera missed him. By the time I’d realised, trained round and was acquiring the target he’d opted out—probably a victim of foul play, struck down by yet another ruthless raindrop.
But I did manage eventually to catch one—
—this wee fellow in all his/her glory.
You want fresh?
You got it~!
Oh, you’re still wanting to know what got my face slapped? CLUE: it didn’t involve bubbles …