Out to Lunch

I scan photos all morning. You know it is my favourite thing to do. Sam just looks at me incredulously. “You are doing this why?” he has asked on more than one occasion.

Then we went and did his favourite thing, shopping.

12.30pm. We parked in Nicholson Street, lunch was first. I am hobbling down the street. I can’t walk properly due to my sore heel. My left heel has been getting slowly more and more sore over the last few weeks and now it is causing me to hobble. I’m kind of surprised by it. Suddenly walking is a trial.

My ex boyfriend Mark said it was plantar fasciitis. He sent me some stuff on it and it sounded like it. Anyway, it is painful and causing me to have, dare I say it, mobility problems, like an old person. (I’m not looking forward to getting old, not at all. I am barely attached to this life as it is, it won’t take too many disabilities for me to want to check out. Get intolerably grumpy at the very least)

We went to Pacific House for lunch. I hobbled down Victoria Street.

Pacific House was busy. Haven’t any of these dweebs heard of Covid, I think? Sam points to us when I mention it.

My meal was disappointing, dry rice with roast pork and roast duck and nothing to wet the rice. Just essentially dry rice. (One thing I like when I am depressed about having a sore foot is food) not at all like their usual fare. Bad choice on my part. I leave with a sad face.

We walk, I hobble, back up Victoria Street. Sam goes to the butcher.

The sun is shining.

Then he goes to plastic surgery to buy fruit & vegetables. (The woman behind the counter looks like she has had too much work done and, of course, that is how I referred to her, which lead to Sam referring to her that way)

I’m standing outside with the warm sun on my face. Watching the demented man piss about with apples. I don’t know what he is doing, but essentially fussing over this one apple that he has. He is putting it down on the footpath at the base of the shop window and walking away. Then returning, picking it up as though he is saying my precious, my precious. Then repeating the process.

Then we hobble to The Hive shopping centre, arcade really. A disparate group of shops.

I try to walk properly, but it hurts too much. Sam gives my sore foot no credence.

a small side table, shelf, or niche in a church for holding the elements of the Eucharist before they are consecrated.

"a credence table"

Sam suggests the shops I could cover. I mention my sore foot yet again and he looks exasperated. I find a seat. Sam does the shops.

“Go, go, go,” says Sam as he walks away.

There is a fat guy aggressively selling The Royal Flying Doctors in the arcade. He goes after everyone who walks passed. He has a line to get everyone’s attention. 

“Ah, there he is.”

“Did you get dressed up just for me?”

“Hey brother?”

“Hey legend?”

Sam comes down the escalator. He skilfully avoids the arcade spruiker. He heads to Saigon Village for more fruit & veg. (I start to grumble)

I sat on my seat watching the world pass by. Of course, my favourite thing to do in life. (second only to doing nothing at all)

We’re home not long after.

I’m back to scanning photos when I get home. Sam disapproves, of course, but he seems to disapprove of just about everything that isn’t on the Sam to do list. I joke it is menopause. He jokes it is me.