Get Out Of My Way

I hate old bitches on mobility scooters, they think they own the footpath. They drive those things like nobody is watching, and they will run you down as quick as look at you. 

Always racing through, no thought for anyone else, get out of my way, or else!

I guess it is the one time in their lives they have some sort of power, when you think about it, and right at the end, no wonder they wield it with abandon. 

One of these old cows stops on the footpath as Bruno and Otto and I are outside Nelson Bailey, where the dogs are sniffing. She just sits there waiting for us to move out of her way, with a sense of entitlement, when she could have easily gone around us. If it had a petrol combustion engine, she would have revved it. Those beady eyes, that fixed stare, that mouth nearly forming a grimace, with too much makeup on, really, on balance. Blue eyeshadow, rouged cheeks, jungle red lipstick. What's this, is she going on a date, I think, I can’t help but laugh to myself. Mobility scooters at 20 paces. 

I should’ve said, we’re gonna be a minute you better go round. But, I didn’t think of it quick enough and, instead, I step out of her way.

And she raced away way too fast for a suburban footpath. But they don’t care, those old cows. If you listen really carefully, you can hear their cackle on the wind.