Wallpaint

The store was about the size of a large arena, the height of the roof was so high, I had to lean heavily on my shopping cart several times during my shopping trip. Huge racks covered in buckets met me at last, after using nearly half an hour down all the rows of screws, hammers, mats, lawn mowers, fertilizers, seeds, shovels, bags of compost, fences, nails, wood boards, pots, garden gnomes and terrace lace.

It struck me at first as a task close to impossible, MI:Wallpaint, wouldn't make a good film. Anyway, suffering from Octophobia as I am, would make it quite hard for me to find a paint that was the excact number of (let me get dad to spell it out, hold on) eight. (I just need to sit down for a bit, my dad and step-mum is about to leave, they seem rather upset after my announcement of suffering from Novercaphobia which is the fear of your own step-mum. But, for my defense, she is awfully intimidating when she does that thing with her teeth that gives her that strong resemblance with a horse, before she laughs mentally. And not to mention her hideous furcoat). So I went over to the counter and handed the man behind it (- his name was Minsc) my folded note of "Brilliant Rosé 8" with my gloved hand.

At first he gave me a quizzical look, and I suddenly recalled what my lector at my Russophobia - How to Avoid It class had told me about treating potential Russians, over whom which I suffer from a neverending paranoia. This person named "Minsc" could just as well be from Belarus, I thought, and that changed everything. I gave him a beaming smile and asked him as sweetly as I could, if he could be a darling and retrieve this colour for me.

Unluckily, he handed me the note back, without even looking at it, and pointed over to the racks of paint "just take the bucket from that row right there madam" he said. It struck me that his English was even more fluent than mine. Simultaneously a pulsating emotion of Octophobia was waving through me. I couldn't get that bucket myself! I tried to stand up straight, but the huge arena (!) was already spinning before me. - "I - I have a bad a-arm" I said, stumbling to retrieve my balance, though standing still as I was. His eyebrows were nearly touching the top of his head by the time he stopped moving them upwards. He then tried to hide an annoyed sigh as he nicked the note out of my hand and walked over to the shelf. With a swift movement he grabbed two buckets and walked back towards me. Slammed them into my cart and smiled so fake, he could've been Jenny Amkins GUCCI bag.

I can't even recall if I said thank you. I felt nauseous and the high racks were now tripling before my eyes. As quick as I could, I pushed my cart towards the entrance, rapidly digging money from my pockets, I got to the cashier, lifted the cart up, even though I felt weak, and emptied the lot over the counter. I had no time to tactically manage to get someone to lift the paint out of the cart for me. The woman looked at me, terrified, but I didn't mind. I was too busy managing to stand up straight. *bip* *bip* *bip* *toc* *toc toc toc* - her manicured nails were beating against the cashier. She said a number, but I was unable to percieve any information. I simply handed her way too much money, grabbed my bags and got out of the store.

The bus ride was relaxing, outside I used some of the techniques from my Panophobia"How to handle being afraid of everything" - course and I soon felt a lot better.

Didn't have time to look into that job thing, but started painting, went to an extra Octophobia class, of course the usual Rectophobia and Meditation Class before having tuna for tea, and then going to bed.

- What a day! Frannie.