I remarked to a friend the other day my surprise at how long my can of “Swedish” shaving cream has lasted. And by “Swedish Shaving Cream”, I mean, the shaving cream I bought in Sweden in July last year from my nearby ICA Supermarket. Oddly enough I have some quite strong memories about that particular shopping excursion, and not just because the shop assistant was cute and totally fascinated that I was from Australia. “It’s such a long way away”, he said, “but I would love to visit there”. “You can always stay with me”, I thought to myself in a reasonably lascivious manner.
Aside from that, for me, there is the memory of it being my first “proper” transaction in Swedish. At the time of purchase I was just seeking a quick shaving fix, never imagining for a moment I’d still be using the can six months later. I mean, I can generally make a bottle of shampoo last for the better part of a year (there are advantages to being bald), but shaving cream is never meant to last this long, I’m sure.
Aside from pondering the wonders of shaving cream, it’s been a reasonably fine day. Work was pretty busy. And then of course I wandered off to my usual Wednesday night with mates at the pub, which I somewhat ironically call my “AA Meeting” (Alcoholics Anonymous). The first time I mentioned to a colleague that I was going to my regular Wednesday night AA Meeting, she was somewhat taken aback, and then said, “Oh good on you James, that’s really great that you’ve taken this step… good luck”, not realising that I was joking.
And now tonight I’ve discovered the very friendly, lovely bar staff have another nickname for our bunch with meets regularly on Wednesday. Apparently, we’re the “Wednesday Night Mothers Club”. And you know… I’m cool with that.