Thankfully most of the embarrassing things Zane comes out
with are at home. But not all.
Zane loves a supermarket, always has. He adores the shopping trolleys that most adults detest and gleefully jumps on them for a ride. He enjoys the
numerous aisles of food, long runways where he can bolt out of sight. He loves their
stacks of colourful packaging with countless challenges for him to open
wrappings of anything that is shiny or attractive or has beans in it.
He loves helping, picking up anything at his height and
hurling it into our trolley - normally squashing the bananas - as though it is essential that we have a kilo of
blue cheese or five packets of wheel-shaped pasta.
In the dairy section of a busy supermarket one day, Zane suddenly stopped his incessant aisle-to-aisle wanderings, turned towards me, grabbed is nipples and loudly announced: “Look daddy, my got BOO-BOOS!”
In the dairy section of a busy supermarket one day, Zane suddenly stopped his incessant aisle-to-aisle wanderings, turned towards me, grabbed is nipples and loudly announced: “Look daddy, my got BOO-BOOS!”
He wasn’t that close to me at the time. He could have been
looking at any number of men in the vicinity. I calmly turned away, pretending
we didn't share the same genes, and perused a shelf of tomato paste as I quietly snorted into
my collar.
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