What is this magic blue box? What’s it’s type? Is it a space ship, or merely a glorified tin can tossed around by the boot of some insanely-proportioned hoodlum?
I have at least one answer; it’s lavatories are no place for the slow. To put it mildly, I’d rather go skinny-dipping accompanied by a hungry killer whale than risk entering that room again. Regardless, I’d die a brutally short death surrounded by water, but at least the whale would get something out of it. That bloody soap dispenser had more issues than a My Little Pony fan-club that was strictly for men only*.
I tried to convey this all in a Look to Homeless Helper. You know. That firm, exasperated expression; the raising of eyebrows; the silent “phew!”; the general waving of limbs, dripping as they were and suitable torn.
There was no way he could have misinterpreted such a Look. That Look has been strong in the universe since the day some divine creator produced it’s first atheist, and had to then explain it to all the other divine creators at their annual get-together, some of whom nodded sympathetically and told it that things would be alright in the end. Someone has to make the orange juice around here. They said that in a Look too.
Homeless Helper, though, instead of offering to equip me with a nuclear weapon of some sort in case I needed to go again, asked- “So where do you want to go this time?”
I was shocked. Shocked, it seems, enough to reply- “Oh, I don’t know. Mars?”
Mars. Of all the places to go, Mars. It doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, but it managed to slip off mine before my brain emerged from it’s Look-dismissal-indentured-stupor to scream “WHY BLOODY MARS??”
Thing is, Homeless Helper doesn’t often ask me why. I think he assumes that I at least know what I’m on about, and that with time he will eventually get the hang of it. That worries me, slightly.
I’m hoping that he doesn’t work out what I’m on about first. That could get real bloody confusing.
*Whilst W has nothing against the individual pursuing an interest that they find enjoyable, there is something undeniably bloody creepy about grown men who list My Little Pony as a major interest in their lives, in his opinion.