Some mornings I feel like I’m working in Air Traffic Control. I’m trying to dress an ants-pants McGee, while simultaneously instructing Mr Justice on where he might find his missing library book and trying to present a convincing argument for going to kindergarten to The Pixie.
But my ability to multi-task can only stretch so far, especially when sharp knives are involved.
The other day The Fabulous Miss Jones and I were chatting on the phone to each other while simultaneously cooking dinner and wrangling children and it to got that point in proceedings where I really needed both hands free.
“I have to go! This onion won’t chop itself!” I announced briskly and then paused to add: “Hmmm, I really must get one of those Madonna-type headsets one of these days…”
“But only if you get one of those pointy bras,” Miss Jones pointed out.
“Oooooo!” I said, my imagination sparked. “If it was made of metal, then I could magnetise the ends of all my cooking utensils and measuring spoons and hang them off me. Then they’d be always there, within easy reach.”
“Or you could just wear a toolbelt,” Miss Jones suggested.
“Boring!” I said. “Where’s your sense of fun? The bra concept is far more interesting. And practical! I could even hang a string from nipple point to nipple point to hang my teatowels!”
“I meant, you could just wear the toolbelt and only the toolbelt.” Miss Jones repeated.
As I chopped onion after our phone call had ended, I thought to myself how, really, I liked that Fabulous Miss Jones’ style. But I had a few concerns that the tool-belt-only approach might contravene a whole host of Health Department regulations. Not to mention the fact that me cooking in the nude could prove to be completely unappetising to anyone who saw it. And, quite honestly, I have enough trouble getting the kids to eat what I cook them as it is.
Still, that bra idea… I just couldn’t let it go. It swirled around and around in my head. This must be how the humble paperclip must have started off, from a simple conversation between friends about paper management. Or liquid paper, which was invented by a monkey’s mother. I mean, a Monkee’s mother. See, the people who invented The Monkees were right to spell it with the double E. It could have led to all sorts of confusion, otherwise. But I digress…
But that little detour of the mind did raise a fair point. What should I call it? Some initial ideas:
- The Tool Rack
- The Bra-sserie
- The Bra Bar (which is a bit of a ballet in-joke – ballet in-jokes are always so accessible)
- The Bossom Buddy (Thanks, KT)
- The Tit-Master 2000
- The Boom-titty-boom-titty-shakka-lakka-mama-jugs Utensil Holder
I don’t know about anybody else, but I suspect I’ve really hit “pay dirt”. If, that is, “pay dirt” means what I’ve always suspected it means: I’ll be paid in dirt. Great hulking mounds of the stuff.
And no, I never intended this to be a Serious Post.