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NiftyFiftyShades

~ Failed Domestic Goddess

NiftyFiftyShades

Tag Archives: parenting

Bad Trolley Etiquette

06 Wednesday Apr 2016

Posted by niftyfiftyshades in Etiquette, Humour, Shopping

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Tags

funny, midlife, parenting, women

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As a mother of three adult students who manage to consume several crates of bananas and many cartons of eggs on a daily basis, not to mention whole boxes of cereal in one sitting (my middle son can munch on a bowl of seven Weetabix while waiting on dinner), supermarket shopping features heavily in my daily schedule in order to keep the larder stocked. Hence, I consider myself an expert on trolley etiquette. I’m talking supermarket trolleys of course, not hostess trolleys, which incidentally I’m also an expert on, but let’s not digress, that’s way too deep and a whole separate blog.

imageFellow domestic Goddesses will be well versed in the intricacies of maneuvering through aisle traffic, but I’ll share my tips with those less informed. Let’s be clear about this, many a woman’s reputation has been ruined on the slip of a wheel or the destruction of an apple pyramid among the aisles of Fallon and Byrne. From extensive observation of supermarket behaviour, I have deduced that men are the root of all evil in the supermarket. All this dithering hither and yon, seeking out preferred items, not knowing their pilchards from their sardines, causing untold mayhem in the aisles, preventing women from sailing through the deli section unimpeded.

imageNo wonder men suffer more accidents when constantly subjected to trolley attack by women. Statistics show that tall, dark, handsome men are particularly accident prone, leading me to suspect the intentions of some.

imageSome younger women are equally misbehaved. On a recent excursion to the supermarket I encountered two young ladies in the pickle aisle taking selfies with the mini cucumbers, trolleys askew (preventing access to the mini gherkins). Such reprehensible behavour, I immediately jumped in, photobombing with a full size cucumber.

 

I think it’s high time I reveal Nifty’s difinitive guide to trolley etiquette.

imageDrive on the left. May cause confusion for visitors outside Ireland and the UK. I’ve written to the minister for Transport on the matter, requesting the installation of traffic lanes and possibly even traffic lights in all Supermarket aisles.

 

Greet people you know with a wave, smiling as you sail on by. If you meet your close friend who relays all the juiciest gossip, it’s perfectly acceptable to hog the aisle. Salacious gossip takes precedence over everything.

Make sure to pick up a fresh haddock, you may need it later.
Don’t stop at aisle intersections. Barge your way through. If you show weakness people with take liberties.

imageIf you reach for your favourite aromatic duck only to find another hand has grabbed it simultaneously, position your trolley to give a sharp prod to the ankles of your opponent. Again, this requires focus. Skilfully quide your trolley back down the adjacent aisle while your opponent is hopping on one foot. This manoeuvre works well for anyone who gets your goat up, young ladies wearing pyjamas, pretentious shoppers who loudly ask for Lobster Gazpacho at the deli counter.

 

Always use the express queue. The item limit is purely a precautionary measure. If challenged by someone behind, simply point at their basket asking loudly “Is that your haemorrhoid cream”.

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If you happen to take a pineapple from the bottom of a pineapple mountain and it results in a fruit catastrophe, quietly retreat backwards to the adjacent aisle. If it’s a banana mountain in disarray, hide behind the next aisle and watch for slippages. A little amusement to brighten your day.

 

 

 

 

imageIf you are in a hurry it’s perfectly acceptable to skip the queue. Simply distract the person at the top of the queue by pointing outside shouting “Is that George Clooney”. At this point you swoop in with your trolley towards the cash desk, unloading your items on the conveyer belt before anyone can object. If anyone does complain, slap them across the face with your fresh haddock. It will usually stun for long enough to allow you to proceed unhampered.

 

Park in the trolley bay if you feel like it.

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Or you might come back to this.

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Take out a subscription to receive the popular magazine Jolly Trolley Today.  I must say a more comprehensive and informative publication on this fascinating topic you won’t find. A must for any domestic Goddess worth her salt.

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Paddy’s Day and All That Malarkey

12 Saturday Mar 2016

Posted by niftyfiftyshades in Drink, Humour, lifestyle, Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Drink, family, parenting

image.jpegAhh!! St. Patrick’s Day in Dublin

A grand occasion, despite the proliferation of teenagers dressed as leprechauns and green pints of Guinness.

image.jpegWhen I was ten, St Patrick was a hero, the reason we had a day off school. The only downside was that it was a holy day of obligation which meant mass was required.

 

It would all kick off a few days beforehand with the annual festival of destroying the sitting room sofa with glue and green paint.  The St.Patrick’s day badge would have to be made, along with flags, bunting and fairy cakes with green icing. All a waste of time as the home made cardboard badge would be cast aside. A tacky foil badge would have to be bought in its place.

 

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Not only was it a break from the clutches of The Little Sisters of Psychological Warfare, it was also a welcome reprieve from the torture of lent, where you gave up sweets for 40 days and 40 nights. On St. Patrick’s day you were allowed take a day off and indulge in as much sugary crap you had accumulated in your stash since the start of Lent on Ash Wednesday.

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The day before, we would be sent out into the garden with a fork from the cutlery drawer to find the elusive shamrock. You might find one single shamrock leaf but dig up a huge sod to extract it from the ground. The muddy shamrock sod would be brought in and left soaking in a dish of water to keep the roots moist. The shamrock was for my Dad, who was to be pitied as he was clearly too old to wear a badge.

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The morning of St Patricks day, all set for mass, I’d insist on my Dad pinning the mucky soggy shamrock sod to his lapels, ruining his good Sunday jacket.

imageThe parade was pretty sad by today’s standards.  A procession of floats from local businesses and brass bands but the party atmosphere was always the draw.   Somehow we’d  manage to wiggle your way up to the front to get a look at the American cheerleaders who we thought were beyond fabulous.  I would feel so sorry for them with their dazzling white smiles, freezing their butts off in star spangled outfits which showed way too much leg for our Artic temperatures. We were toasty in our newly knitted Aran sweaters.

image.jpegThis tradition, I repeated with my own kids when they were small, including sending them into the garden to find the shamrock. (I didn’t knit new Aran jumpers for them, even I’m not that perfect. My mother, their grandmother did).

imageIn fairness, they kept their side of the bargain with the desecration of the sitting room sofa, and the destruction of the kitchen with green gunge.

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In recent years, rather than negotiate the throngs at the parade, I head to Merrion Square to watch the floats setting up. It’s become a much grander affair, with spectacular fireworks, the river Liffey turns green, jigs  and reels in Merrion Square and amusement rides to entertain the masses. Pubs are packed to the gills, throngs spilling out into the streets where you’re guaranteed to have ‘the craic’.

 

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Chestbumpophobia and My 5 Top Ways to Feel Old

01 Monday Feb 2016

Posted by niftyfiftyshades in Humour, Midlife, Uncategorized

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Tags

family, funny, menopause, midlife, parenting

 

imageYesterday in a pub in Dublin’s Financial Centre, I spotted two men chest bumping each other. WTF!! I thought that was the privilege of spotty teen football players celebrating a goal. Not so, these men looked respectably suited and booted. It made me feel old.

When I was a kid we were thought that the acceptable form of greeting people was to shake hands. As things moved on we became more sophisticated. It was all about French cheek kissing, a concept which has taken me over two decades to embrace. Finally, I’m getting to grips with the huggy kissy thing, when it’s all changed again.

Chest bumping, I’ll never master it. Not in a million years. I ask Himself what he thinks of the whole thing and he offers to help me practice. (I know he hasn’t a clue what chest bumping is). I’m socially inept, I’d never know when it’s appropriate and when not. Do you greet an old friend with a chest bump, or is it solely for celebrating a point scored watching University Challenge?

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Here are my top five ‘you know you’re getting old when……’

  1. You’re biggest fear is chest bumping. You’d rather not win the lotto in case the celebration would involve this gross affront to your dignity.
  2. You look at the kids on the block. They’re starting to go bald.
  3. You play CD’s, the sole preserve of the deeply uncool.
  4. You feel like the morning after you haven’t been anywhere.
  5. You are the proud owner of a sewing machine.
  6. Your mind makes plans your body can’t keep.
  7. You look forward to doing nothing for the weekend.
  8. You can’t count anymore (I said top 5, I’ve listed 8).

 

Chest bumping looks particularly painful for women

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Think you’re ready for a baby, take the test!

20 Wednesday Jan 2016

Posted by niftyfiftyshades in Humour, Midlife, parenting, Uncategorized

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Tags

babies, family, funny, parenting

Preparation for parenthood is not just a matter of reading books and decorating the nursery. Here are some simple tests for the expectant / aspiring parents to take to prepare themselves for the real life experiences of being a mother or father.image

  1. Women: To prepare for maternity, put on a dressing gown and stick a beanbag down the front. Leave it there for nine months. After nine months take out 10% of the beans.
  2. Men: To prepare for paternity go to the local pharmacy and tip the contents of your wallet on the counter and tell the pharmacist to help himself. Then go to the supermarket, arrange to have your salary paid directly to their head office. Go home, pick up the paper, read it for the last time.
  3. Before you finally go ahead and have children, find a couple who are already parents and berate them about their methods of discipline, lack of patience, appalling low tolerance levels and how they allow their children to run riot. Suggest ways in which they can improve their children’s sleeping habits, toilet training, table manners and overall behaviour. Enjoy it – it’ll be the last time in your life you will have all the answers.
  4. Discover how the nights will feel – walk around the living room from 5 pm to 10pm carrying a wet bag approximately 8 – 12 lbs. At 10pm put the bag down, set the alarm for midnight and go to sleep. Get up at midnight and walk around the living room again with the bag until 1am. Set the alarm for 3am. As you can’t go back to sleep, get up at 2am and make a drink. Get up again at 3am when the alarm goes off. Sing songs in the dark until 4am. Set the alarm for 5am. Get up, make breakfast. Keep this up for 5 years. Look cheerful.
  5. Can you stand the mess children make? To find out, first smear Marmite into the sofa and jam onto the curtains. Hide a fish finger behind the stereo and leave it there all Summer. Stick your fingers in the flowerbed and then rub them on the clean walls. Cover the stains with crayons. How does that look?
  6. Dressing small children is not as easy as it seems. Purchase an octopus and a string bag. Attempt to put the octopus into the string bag so that none of the arms hang out. Time allowed for this – all day.
  7. Take an egg carton. Using a scissors and a pot of paint, turn it into an allegator. Now take a toilet roll. Using only sellotape and a piece of foil, turn it into a Christmas Cracker. Last, take a milk container, a ping pong ball and a packet of Coco Pops and make an exact replica of the Eifel Tower. Congratulations, you have just qualified for a place on the playgroup committee.image
  8. Forget the Merc coupe, buy a Volvo estate. And don’t think you can leave it out there in the driveway spotless and shining. Family cars don’t look like that. Buy a choc ice and put it in the glove compartment. Leave it there. Get a 20 cent piece and stick it into the CD player. Take a family sized packet of chocolate biscuits and mash them down the back seats. Run a garden rake along both sides of the car. There – perfect.
  9. Always repeat everything you say at least 5 times.
  10. Get ready to go out. Wait outside the toilet for half an hour. Go out the front door. Come in again. Walk down the front path. Walk back up it. Walk down it again. Walk very slowly down the road for 5 minutes. Stop to inspect minutely every cigarette butt, chewing gum stain, dirty tissue or dead insect along the way. Retrace your steps. Scream that you have had enough until the neighbours come out and stare at you. Give up and return to the house. You are now just about ready to take a small child for a walk.
  11. Go to the local supermarket. Take with you the nearest thing you can find to a preschool child. A fully grown goat is excellent. If you intend to have more than one child take more than one goat. Buy your weeks groceries without letting the goats out of your sight. Pay for everything the goats destroy. Unless you can easily accomplish this do not even contemplate having children.
  12. Hollow out a melon. Make a small hole in the side. Suspend it from the ceiling and swing it from side to side. Now get a bowl of soggy Weetabix and spoon it into the melon while pretending to be an aeroplane. Continue until half of the Weetabix is gone. Tip the other half into your lap, ensuring some of it goes on the floor. You are now ready to feed a 12 month old baby.image.jpeg

Does cooking liver lead to marital discord?

05 Tuesday Jan 2016

Posted by niftyfiftyshades in Humour, Uncategorized

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Tags

family, food, kids, parenting, teenagers, women

image.jpegCan cooking liver lead to marital discord??
I smell something cooking, but can’t quite identify what the smell is but its something I haven’t smelt in yonks. WTF. It’s not liver??. My son is standing there frying liver on the pan. Holy shit!

On quizzing him, it appears that liver is full of micro nutrients, low fat, high protein super duper mega meat. I shake my head in wonderment. “The world is gone mad.. Aren’t teenagers meant to be eating crap all the time, not protein shakes, aloe vera juice and goji berries sprinkled on quinoa”.

I can’t help thinking back to the last time liver was cooked in our house many many years ago.

Firstly, let me explain, when I was a small kid, my mother regularly cooked things like ‘stuffed baked liver and bacon’ or lamb shanks. We liked it back then. Then we left home and over time our sophisticated palettes could no longer stomach such peasant food. We wiped it from our memory and it never existed. The thought of it now would be enough to induce projectile vomit. Move forward a decade, and I have my own little toddlers. I worried that they looked pale, not getting enough iron, minerals, vitamins. One day I decide to buy some liver from the butchers. Genuinely retching at having to handle the slimey stuff, I manage to hold it together enough to cook it and serve it up to the boys for dinner ( smothered in tomato ketchup and Chef brown sauce to disguise the taste).

‘What is it mam?’ asks my eldest poking it with his fork.

‘Its very expensive steak, only available from Fallon and Byrne’s food hall”. Not sure if they’re buying it, I add “ You’re very lucky to have this for dinner as its usually only sold to members of the royal family”. This does the trick. To my astonishment, they polish off the lot. Yes!! Result! I’m so clever. I’m an Earth mother providing nourishment for my babies. I can’t wait to tell Himself when he comes home. He’ll be so proud of his clever wife.

Er no!! To say he was horrified is the understatement of the feckin century. “You’re.. you’re devious” he accused, pointing his shaky finger at the empty plate. “That’s child abuse” The look of pure disgust on his face left me unsure whether our marriage would survive such a monumentally deceitful act as the one I had perpetrated… In fairness, I’ve done much worse, just never got caught.

Ah yes, happy memories…
“Don’t let your father see you cooking that, he’ll have a canary”.

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Read about my failings as I muddle through midlife

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