Or so said an article I read in the newspaper around that time, possibly written by somebody who watched one too many Sex in the City episodes, who really knows. Nobody quiet knew what night ‘singles night’ was, but from that point on every man with a penis was down at the supermarket circulating the place with all manner of phallic shaped fruit and veg pointing upwards out of their trolleys.
Naturally most of the women who had just nipped down for some tampons and a pack of Tim Tams freaked right out after being checked out, leered at and propositioned by men with what appeared to be a telegraph cucumber down their pants. Suddenly even the most mundane of tasks was now akin to being the only girl present at a sausage fest, so the girls abandoned the supermarkets in droves leaving all the horny men to wonder just where they all went.
Well I’ve just found out where: the Garden Centre.
I like garden centres because they remind me of the Vietnam bush and whenever I’m feeling nostalgic I like to don the khakis and head down to Palmers. At first the staff there were quite concerned with my making camp amongst the perennials and jumping out at Asian shoppers, but we have now reached a compromise; I promise to conduct only recon missions whilst amongst the foliage and they don’t douse me in that freaky naughty Agent Orange like bug spray they used to subdue me the first time.
They are a lot of myths about the Vietnam bush. Thanks to Hollywood the general perception is that the place was full of walking tracks and only knee high shrubs. Not so. To fully understand how thick the shit was you would first have to imagine the bushiest minge you’ve been, or are with. Now imagine the room you’re sitting in right now full, from ceiling to floor, with that retro bush and you’re on the right track....
On my last visit to Palmers I thought I was hallucinating, that maybe I hadn’t rinsed out my fatigues after the defoliant dousing incident, because the place was wall to wall totty.
Luckily I had the blublockers on because I was able to eyeball most, if not all of them without the missus noticing. I find the best way to do this is to stand looking and discussing at something in the foreground whilst in a position that allows you to actually perv at the lovely pair of bulbs in the background. Classic move that.
Afterwards I gave it some thought it dawned on me just why young, attractive women are flocking to garden centres in droves - it’s their maternal instinct kicking in. All chicks have one; it’s only the way they channel it that differs. For the majority its kids, for some it’s pets and for others it’s gardening, hence the turnout in Palmers, which suddenly seems appropriately named, doesn’t it?
So forget about prowling the supermarket aisles for loose women fellas, tuck one of those upturned bananas down your tweeds and get down to your local garden centre because it’s getting hot and moist down there, just like a room full of thick pubes.
Check out her seedlings....humina, humina.
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