This afternoon I spent 15 minutes reliving my childhood, with the added bonus of looking like a complete Norbert while I did it. Remember going shopping with your mum/dad/responsible adult and turning round from looking at something more interesting than canned tuna only to find that said responsible adult has disappeared?? You look around at all the belt buckles and shoes (I'm talking short 5 year old here) hoping to recognise your mother's incredibly manky brown roman sandals (we're in 1974 at this point) but there's nothing familiar in sight. At this point your choices are
A) cry softly
B) cry loudly
C) look for the freddo frog display and party down until you're taken into custody by a pair of cork wedge heels (1974 remember) and the announcement goes out.....
"Attention customers, we have a little girl at the checkouts. She may possibly be wearing a white skivvy (ewww) but it's hard to tell due to stains incurred while committing grand theft freddo in aisle two. If her mother is in the store, could she please come to register nine with a wet washer and enough money to cover costs or we will be forced to press charges. And thank you for shopping at Woolworths"
Ahhh....memories. It has to be said that reliving the same moment when you're 40 and your mother has once again disappeared into another dimension while you inspect the Tim Tams leaves a lot to be desired. There's nothing quite like the humiliation of standing at the customer service counter trying to convince a well meaning checkout operator young enough to have given you a caesarian scar that you're not lost, you're just waiting for the black hole in aisle 8 to cough up your parent from the deli at the end of the universe. And I was going to pay for the freddos. Honest.