HOMER-ING IN ON STU­PID­ITY

WHEN IT COMES TO STUMBLING THROUGH LIFE, ONE DE­BA­CLE AF­TER AN­OTHER, I HAVE A LOT IN COM­MON WITH THE SIMP­SONS’ DAD FROM THE TV SHOW

Life & Style Weekend - - MAGAZINE | TUGBOAT TALES - WORDS: ASH­LEY ROBINSON

IAM cur­rently on the Gold Coast at the Aus­tralian Surf Life Sav­ing Cham­pi­onships so here is a col­umn from 2010 and not much has changed.

Had a strange phone call that re­minded me once again of the many stupid things I am ca­pa­ble of.

I cer­tainly have plenty of his­tory when it comes to stumbling through life from one Homer Simp­son de­ba­cle to an­other – you know, va­cant look and “Doh!” when I re­alise what I have done.

In the ’80s, when the youngest son was still in nap­pies, I fa­mously left his six-year-old brother and 15-year-old boarder in charge of him.

When I got home, I could hear him scream­ing from the bath­room and went in there to find the other two spray­ing his bum with Glen 20 to get rid of the smell of a filled nappy.

A few years later, I came home af­ter a rather late night as full as the last bus and crawled into bed, try­ing not to wake up the bomb-thrower on the other side, which seemed to work a treat.

Amaz­ingly, I woke up early for my job at the time of de­liv­er­ing power poles and, be­ing the car­ing per­son I am, left the lights off so as not to dis­turb the scary woman.

I went into the bath­room to brush my teeth in the dark which was all fine ex­cept in­stead of tooth­paste I used Retinol.

The funny thing about that was, I clearly re­mem­ber hav­ing to re­ally squeeze the tube hard to get any­thing to come out which still never tipped me off that some­thing was the mat­ter.

Of course, the gag­ging, vom­it­ing, gar­gling and mad brush­ing of teeth with tooth­paste did wake up old mate, who pro­ceeded to stand be­side me and tell me it was God’s way of pun­ish­ing me ... as she laughed

hys­ter­i­cally.

I could go on and on, re­count­ing my rich his­tory of stu­pid­ity.

But more re­cently, I dis­cov­ered some­thing that had been puz­zling me for about a year.

I have a favourite pair of run­ners that I bought about a year ago.

It is a set of what were sup­posed to be A-grade in­ner­soles and, in typ­i­cal Homer Simp­son fash­ion, I never put two and two to­gether when, shortly af­ter, the shoes be­came very slip­pery to run or walk in.

Those shoes were re­tired to the bench for lawn-mow­ing du­ties and a new pair were pur­chased at con­sid­er­able ex­pense.

So I de­cided to take the in­ner soles out of my mow­ing shoes and wash them.

It was then I re­alised that the pretty shiny yel­low sur­face was ac­tu­ally sup­posed to be face down and the dim­pled part with the trac­tion was ac­tu­ally the top. They were in up­side down. Hard to be­lieve, I know, but sadly true.

Now, the phone call re­cently was from a lady from Bardo’s Bazaar at Caloun­dra.

I stupidly thought it was to thank me for giv­ing them a plug in a col­umn as I had writ­ten a foot­note, as in­structed by my wife.

That’s be­cause I once wrote a col­umn about a wed­ding and her shoes blow­ing out and she was an­noyed that I may have given the im­pres­sion that she some­times bought junk from op shops cen­tres when in fact they have great stuff and there are a lot of hard-work­ing vol­un­teers rais­ing money for good causes.

I must have worded it in­cor­rectly be­cause the nice lady from the Bazaar was of­fended, and sug­gested an­other foot­note to pacify her vol­un­teers who also didn’t un­der­stand what the stupid man was try­ing to say.

So for the last time, my wife and I love what op shops and their vol­un­teers do. Keep up the good work, de­spite the Homer Simp­sons of the world.

“I RE­MEM­BER HAV­ING TO RE­ALLY SQUEEZE THE TUBE HARD TO GET ANY­THING TO COME OUT WHICH STILL NEVER TIPPED ME OFF THAT SOME­THING WAS THE MAT­TER.

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