The Burrito of Iron Man

Post CCLII

Here’s the story of love, flowers, and pockets.

It’s very hard to concentrate when two dragonflies are having sex right next to you. I mean, I presume they were dragonflies. I’m not an insect-ologist. Insector? What do you call someone who studies insects? Endermologist? Entomologist? Yeah, that last one, I think. An endermologist is someone who massages your back fat, I think. Regardless, it was certainly a couple of insects going at it like rabbits, although that does make me wonder what rabbits do. Go at it like… insects? Hmm. I don’t recommend Googling ‘dragonfly sex’, like I did to try to figure out if that’s what they were doing, because the description of such is… well, let’s just say, it gives 50 Shades a run for its money. The female one did not look like she was having a good time. I mean, I presume not, because she looked like she was being devoured. It’s a bit hard to tell if a dragonfly is grumpy. Or if, indeed, they have emotions. It’s certainly what I’d study if I were an endermologist. You see, dragonflies are huge. And they were right on the middle of my bedroom window. Put me right off my blog researching. Didn’t put me off my bacon sandwich, though…

It’s one of those things in the corner of your eye but you try to ignore. You know, like your brother picking his nose during family television time. Damn you, peripheral vision! I argue that it’s an evolutionary leftover, like the appendix or that tail I have at the base of my spine. We needed it when we were cavemen and cavewomen, cavepeople, if you wish, to know if we were about to become dinner for some ravenous lion doodads, sabretooth whatchamacallits, or mad giraffe thingamabobs. The only purpose it seems to serve nowadays is to inform me that two bloody insects have decided on a bit of coitus right next to my frickin’ head!

‘Oh, well’, you’re thinking. ‘It’s nature. Don’t be such a silly sausage. I bet you’re the kind of person who goes all shy when he visits the zoo and two animals are making love.’ Yes! Because the last zoo I went to was London Zoo and there was quite a bit of that going on! What’s the problem? I had two very young kids with me! How am I supposed to explain that! “Uncle Ally, what are they doing?” “Erm… Do you fancy an ice-cream, honey?”

But what’s natural about having sex on a window? Who has sex on a window, apart from Spider-Man, maybe, because, well, hey, why not? It’s probably one of the things superheroes do with their powers whilst their not busy saving the day. I bet Iron Man has used that laser thingy in his hand to cook a burrito…

It’s a time for love around here. No, not me, that’ll never happen. You know, on account of how hideous I look. And all my medical problems, many of which I listed last week, many of which have gotten considerably worse. Or the fact I’m so shy I don’t really know how to function on the best of days. Or… you know what, it’s not important. I’m repulsive to all women, and I’m fine with that. I don’t deserve any sympathy. I’m not at all reaching for a couple of tissues right about now…

It’s my mum and dad’s wedding anniversary soon. They’re going abroad somewhere. I forget where. I’m that friend you have that forgets everything you tell them. That party. Where you’re going on holiday. Your children’s names. I really don’t care. I mean, yeah, well done on the whole ‘having children’ malarkey, and sure, I’ll send, erm, whatever they’re called a card once in a while, but do I really need to remember their names? I mean, all kids have the same names these days, I’m bound to get it right in five guesses. It’s Jessica, right? Honestly, almost every young girl in the UK seems to be called Jessica at the moment. In a class of 20 in the primary school I attended, there are currently six of them. SIX! Be more imaginative! Call her Gertrude! No one is called that these days! I know it’s the name of a cow, but… hey, it’s unique! Gordon Bennett…

43 years my mum and dad have been married. Started dating 49 years ago. Known each other for 57 years. They are incomprehensible numbers, aren’t they? 43 years! I can’t imagine doing anything for 43 years. I can imagine I’ll still have things I have now in 43 years time, because I keep things until they break, and then I mend them. And so on until I have to admit defeat. I haven’t bought a pair of trousers in over a decade. You see, a decade ago, I got six pairs of jeans. Oh, sure, some have fallen apart, but there’s still four left, and hey, four is plenty. I mean, men wear jeans for about two weeks before washing them, so I’m fine with four. And in any case, they don’t make jeans like they used to. It’s very hard to find jeans that are bootcut, have proper pockets, a 32 inch leg and a 26 waist. I’m very thin and very tall, as you’ve probably worked out…

When I say ‘proper pockets’, I mean the ones your hands enter from the side and are big enough to get your hands in to. Not these modern ones that you enter from the top, for some bizarre reason, and seem to exist purely for decoration because nothing fits in them anyway. But they don’t sell any other variety much anymore, because designers clearly don’t care about the common man! I’m very jaded about pocket design, readers.

Mum and dad have never been away on their anniversary. I don’t think they went away for a honeymoon. Married on the Saturday, sold the wedding dress because they needed money on the Sunday, back to work on Monday. I normally get them chocolates but I couldn’t this year. I could get them flowers, but there are no flower shops anywhere anymore. Oh, no, it’s all online these days. And I don’t have a debit or credit card. Like all sane people. Because hey, who cares about getting advice on flowers and smelling them when you can order them so simply online! Isn’t that amazing! I’m being sarcastic. I’m also very jaded about flowers, readers.

I got them a card. I’m not sure when their anniversary is, but it’s soon. I told you, I’m that friend you have who forgets everything. Including dates. So I just got them one now and hope some clues will arise as to when the big date is. Because you can’t ask someone when a date is because you’ll offend them. So next time mum and dad are out, I’m going to go hunting for the plane tickets. Hey, don’t blame me for having a bad memory. I forgot what day it was when I woke up this Saturday morning. I was convinced it was a Tuesday. A bad memory isn’t my fault, readers. It’s God’s fault. Blame Him…

I hate card shops. I hate shopping in general. Most of the anniversary cards were too mushy. With love and kindness, so many years of unending angelic love, the choirs and angels in heaven bless you forever more, your love so moving – oh, for God’s sake – I’m going to be sick. What’s wrong with, ‘Happy Anniversary, Have a Swell Time’? Hmm? Only one like that. That I could afford. I walked right passed the expensive card shop where all the cards are £3 or more. Straight to the cheap shop. I mean, I’m very happy for you on your anniversary, but nobody is worth a £3 card. A pound is my limit. Never pay more than that for one card. Top tip of the week. The recipient will just put it in the bin anyway.

Then something strange happened. The shopkeep gave me the card after I paid for it but then asked me if I wanted a plastic bag. Huh? I said ‘yes’ and I had to give her the card back. Oh, that Jessica, what a hoot. That, seriously, was the name on her name badge. It’s a lovely name, but by Jove, they’re everywhere…

I had to pay 5p for the bag as well. Bloody bag tax. It’s not working, readers. It’s not discouraging the British from using plastic bags. We’re just paying it. I don’t think you’ll find many countries less arsed about the environment…

I hope they like their card and have a nice time. Wherever they’re going. I’ll be fine here all by myself. Coughing my guts up and sniffling away with my migraines and drowsiness. And I’m hot all the time. No, don’t worry about me. All alone. With my bloody useless cough medicine. And my thousand and one unusually shaped rashes. And my eyes that have turned blue. Oh, and all that nose hair that’s started to creep out of my nostrils making me feel incredibly old.

Excuse me, I think I have something in my eye…

American writer and illustrator, Theodor ‘Dr. Seuss’ Geisel (1904-1991), once said: “You know you’re in love when you can’t fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.”

Peace Out :|:


I’d love to hear your thoughts on this post. You can leave a comment and/or like this post below, or by clicking the title on the top of this post if you are on the ‘Archives’ page. Likes and follows greatly appreciated. Thanks.


Please feel free check out the latest posts from my other two blogs:

To Contrive & Jive
New Posts Every Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday
Click Here to Read the Latest Post

Hark Around the Words
New Post Every Sunday
Click Here to Read the Latest Post


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