Oh MELONS

Be careful what you wish for.

I should have learned by now that it is never too late (or in fact too early) in the day for some form of calamity or insanity to occur.

Today had passed without anything of note happening whatsoever - other than it getting very hot and everyone going very still and moaning a lot.

And then it got to 10pm and my OH came home and I realised I hadn't eaten and was starving and there was no food in the house and I just HAD to have watermelon. So off I went to the Turkish Shop at the end of the road where they sell the biggest watermelons you have ever seen. Their melons are so big you can barely lift them.

On my way up there I pondered when I would be able to blog again. If this heat continues and my brain keeps melting and nobody really does anything it's all going to get pretty dull. My life might even start to enter the field of 'balanced and normal'.

Anyway, entering the Turkish Shop at night when you are female, blonde and have bosoms is either brave or stupid but I wanted a watermelon badly so I braved the stares and the 'boootiful laydee' mutters (who are they trying to kid? I've seen those 80 year old pensioners with their 'true love from Bodrum' on the pages of Take a Break - I'm not falling for that one) and got on with perusing the melons.

All was going well until I reached forward to pick one up, heard a 'ping' and the buckle off my sun-dress strap flew across the shop letting the left-hand-side section of my dress flap down.

Down, down, down. Down below my left hand bosom in fact.

Oh joy.

What is one supposed to do in these situations? Other than pause momentarily and think 'are you having a f***ing laugh or what!?'.

I could hardly ask the shop keeper for a pin and a hand. I may as well ask if he would like a quick feel of my breasts.

In the end I resorted to my usual form of coping in these situations i.e. pretending it didn't actually happen and nonchalantly chucked the strap over my shoulder, held my dress closed with my armpit and asked the guy behind the counter to weigh my melon. I'm not sure if he was aware of the reason behind my strange posture or just thought I had a deformed arm. Personally I'm hoping it was the later.

There was a certain amount of wiggling and awkwardness when I had to find my purse and then again when I had to carry the melon out but I got away with no further nipple exposure so that's a result hey?

I just pray they don't have CCTV or I'll probably be doing the rounds down the local kebab shop later.

So be careful what you wish for. Sometimes dull is GOOD!

p.s this all probably sounds highly bizarre to some of you but if you live with me it just becomes normal and washes straight over you without even causing a ripple. As proof as to how used to this kind of thing my husband is, here is the conversation we had when I got back with my melon:

Him: Anything going on out there?

Me: Just the usual w@nkers about.

Him: Anything happen?

Me: Yeah, I bent over in the shop and the strap on my dress broke and I exposed myself to all the staff, look.... (show him broken strap and give him demo).

Him: Oh. Right (walks into living room to watch Newsnight with no further comment or suggestion).

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