I go to ASDA.

Not entirely sure how I got tricked into this, I sulk, wheeling Baby Servalan round in a trolley that should sport a Police-Aware sticker. The LTLP engages with the groceries, enthusiastically.

I queue at the checkout whilst she zips off to fetch This Week’s Thing That We Should Have Remembered Before We Got To The Checkout. In front of me is an elderly man. He catches my eye and seems to study me. Then he looks at Baby Servalan. Then he looks at me again.

“Well she’s better looking than you,” he remarks in a matter-of-fact way, before turning back to his shopping.

There is a significant pause before I respond by deciding that I can’t quite think of a response, and so I won’t dignify things by responding. We queue together in silence.

It is frustrating when you can’t think of anything to say in a situation. As a witty and urbane writer (‘superb’ – Web Active Magazine (now defunct due to no sales)) I am used to being able to articulate my point in a polished and flowing fashion, but I find things less easy in verbal intercourse. I briefly consider asking him to submit his point to me in writing, but decide against it. The rude cunt who will die shortly.

The most stupid thing is that of course he is completely wrong. As most readers will be aware, I am very good looking, whereas Baby Servalan just looks like a baby. So he has made himself look an idiot without me having to even try.

I resolve not to shop in ASDA again. I do not get this sort of confrontation in the Village Shop; we enjoy a better class of customer in there.

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