The Association for the Promotion of the Blindingly Obvious (cardbox box division) is having a busy day. “Bake for the indicated time,” read the pizza instructions, “you could use this time to prepare a mixed salad”.
As opposed to what? Taking the children hostage, say, and mounting a short roof-top siege, surrounded by armed police, timed to end just as the pizza crust achieves crisp, golden perfection?
Then I come across words of wisdom from the lovely Mark Hill, possessor of at least one full head (possibly two) of moppet-like curls, on the box of his new Professional ThermoCeramic Styling Tong (sic).
“It has been my dream to create a range of new and unique styling products,” he says. Dear little chap. What with terrorism and global warming taking up so much valuable brain power worldwide, it’s good to know there’s someone out there having the sort of dreams we suburbanites can really get our collective subconscious into.
Just as I think my reading material is back on track, I discover a feature about a woman who is "an astrologer, teacher and flower essence consultant" and "has had the joy of experiencing all the elements in bringing up her own three children (water, fire and air)"
It makes me laugh. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. “Do you think there's an alternative career for me in flower essence consulting? Break it to me gently if not,” I write to Caroline, queen of the coffee morning and a trained Doula, a sort of super midwife, who does everything short of standing in for the actual delivery, although I wouldn’t put even this past her, given her science degree and a character so strong that she could probably do crowd scenes on her own.
Unfortunately, she doesn’t take it well. In three curt paragraphs she sums up my mind (closed); my humour (unwarranted) and my revised social standing (exiled to a small yurt in the conversational permafrost).
Sighing, I pen a fulsome retraction, blaming my lapse in taste on an unfortunate conjunction of planets and an over-consumption of herbal tea. Nothing. Then: “Just rattling your chain,” comes the response. I shudder slightly and order a lifetime’s supply of contraceptive pills.
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8 comments:
Dear Friend,
Oh how I love to read packaging and signs. My husband texts me often from his business trips abroad to give me something to laugh about. From Narita in Japan recently he texted me with the sign from the bathroom wall instucting him not To Use the hairdryer "For The Other Purpose"!
Now what could they possibly mean?
The mind boggles. I will give 'the other purpose' some thought.
Good stuff. I filled out the registration form here (to get an identity card) and the line read:
Sex (optional)
Now does that mean I can get it if I want it or that I can choose an alternative to female?
I have this fear that one day everything will be in plain English and life will be a little duller and sadder as a result. Sex (optional) makes me feel it's still some way off. Might be linked to Dulwich Mum's James' hair dryer experience.
How dare the pizza box tell you to make salad - is that to make you feel guilty for cooking pizza in the first place? Arrggghhh!
My favourite is nut packets that say: "This product contains nuts". I should bloody well hope it does!
I like the nut warnings, too. Not so much blindingly obvious as just insulting.
Oh this is good, omega mum.
Sign on wall beside rubbish chute in apartment block;
'Some people put cigarette ends in rubbish. Please do not. Building will burst into flames and thousands will die.'
So much more imaginative than; 'No lighted cigarettes.'
Signs here are always a short essay and usually hilarious.
That's brilliant. How amazing! Had you thought of collecting them all - if bloggers round the world united, would make wonderful little book?
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