Saturday, August 18, 2012

fixing things

My left arm hurts. I've just returned from a walk-in clinic and am now protected from polio, pertussis, diphtheria and tetanus, yay. The doctor, a stunningly beautiful East Indian woman, told me that I won't actually have antibodies floating through my system for 2 weeks - but since I cleaned the wound thoroughly and it's relatively shallow, she thinks the chances of my jaw locking are slim.

That's a relief.

Last week I wrote, I have termites but not breast cancer. Today, there's the same noise as all week, Richard hammering on the roof and Kevin and John sawing in the bedroom - but I probably do not have tetanus. Richard the poison guy injected his termite killer yesterday. It's a stunning, fresh summer day. So much to be thankful for.

On the way home from the clinic I cycled by the new Loblaws, decided that since I missed the market this morning, I should go in for some peaches, and somehow, God knows how, ended up with a basket of Ontario peaches and a pair of gorgeous burgundy corduroy pants. $19. Joe Fresh. Another addiction on its way.

4 comments:

  1. You know Beth, the Joe Fresh model is old-fashioned, but seems to be working. One of the reasons for its success is that, with the store often being inside a Loblaws, the lady of the household (I kid you not) can make a quick purchase with the week's grocery money and her partner / husband won't notice. Feels funny even typing it.

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  2. Jason, if anyone would know about the habits of the lady of the household, it's you, thanks to your wonderful mother. One of the things I like a lot in France is Monoprix - which sometimes sells food, but mostly sells housewares, clothes and underwear, beautifully designed and very reasonable. Now I've discovered Joe Fresh in its Loblaws location - nice housewares and incredibly cheap, great clothes and food. And since I saw Picasso at the AGO, I don't need to go to France any more.

    I do have to wonder, though, as my conscience kicks in - how can they afford to sell clothes for so little? Is it because they pay extremely poor wages on the other side of the world?

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  3. Hi, Beth's conscience. I'm afraid you're probably right. Uh, sorry.

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  4. It's interesting how the conscience of an ethical, caring person, as I like to think of myself, can wobble and stretch: I won't ever eat veal, except in France; will only eat pork from small farms, meaning I can't give up pork but at least hope the pigs had a good life. And I hardly ever buy new clothes but when I do, I try to stifle the voice that wonders where they came from. How much harm, I ask, can one little person do? I know. Quite a lot.

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