My saga began on Saturday morning, when I had to unload the fridge in order to reload it with shopping. You know how that game of Fridge Tetris goes…
- realise that what’s on the counters is not going to fit in the space permitted without some Escher-like genius
- remove some suspect items from the fridge and bin them guiltily, making a point of not checking the scoff-by date
- check condiments for anything which needs to be hoovered up within two weeks of opening
- realise that you’ve created all of 80sqcm of space
- remove more items
- realise that there is nowhere to put them
- feel your hearing aid get sucked into a feedback loop when the fridge starts beeping impatiently at you
- rearrange veg drawer
- decide that the cold meats can go in with the sealed raw meats (so long as they’re on top)
- breathe a sigh of relief
- revert swiftly to panic when the food on the counter starts sending ‘put me away!’ in your general direction
- rearrange fridge, all items snugly deposited
- step back and admire work from the top of the armful of stuff which is going to go in tonight’s dinner
- trip and nearly kill oneself on a rude little cucumber.
I did all this with my hearing aids out, and when I finally picked myself up off the floor, my husband and son were looking at me with astonishment, wondering how such a basic task could take so long, and involve so many, many interesting words.
I nearly told them to pack the damn fridge themselves (and many more interesting words might have been used), but I refrained. See, I’d learned the art of calming myself down earlier in the year, to prevent the usual volcanic eruption that bursts from me when people tell me to calm down when I’m hopping up and down with frustration.
So, for a while, silence reigned.
I’m reasonably convinced that I managed to sustain a dignified level of noise management until this morning, when I had a fight to the death with the packaging of one of the Co-op’s high-security sandwiches. I thought at the time that I was alone in my struggles until the sandwich was taken from me by a kindly octogenarian, who opened it effortlessly. Cue a red face from me, and many spluttered thanks and apologies (probably sotto voce, ironically enough) before I drove home to enjoy my treat.
Seriously – a packed sandwich is a treat for me these days; it’s just cheaper to buy one prawn cocktail jobbie every now and again than to buy more prawns than I know what to do with.
This afternoon, a battle with a Tesco’s ice cube freezing bag drew a small crowd among my son’s friends, who had been making a great deal more noise upstairs playing FIFA, until they realised that other live entertainment was taking place downstairs.
I want to hear from you… deaf or not…
Share your inglorious experiences of making considerably more noise than you thought you were. If this episode involves a bed, so be it.
I just don’t want to feel like the only noisy penguin on the Arctic shelf!
I shall sign off for now, wishing you a very merry Tuesday.