Full moon in Merrylands.

So, I'm on the phone to a customer, scratching my head, inspecting my stigmata and frantically reaching for my cup of jasmine tea, when she busts the following question out onto me...

"Is it true that you should only take bee pollen if it's gathered by bees who fly within a 60km radius of your house?"

I'm going to repeat that, just in case you think I had a seizure while typing and simply chanced upon that combination of words.

"Is it true that you should only take bee pollen if it's gathered by bees who fly within a 60km radius of your house?"

Now, although desperate myself to know the idiotic mechanics and possibly alien origins of this brand of logic, I had to refrain from all lines of questioning, in a feeble attempt to stave off a most unprofessional amount of laughter.

So, I'm not able to expand this theory for you.
Pity.

If you're wondering about my response, the best I could come up with at that moment was,

"If you like."

And I'm not repeating that either, as I'm not terribly proud of it.

I can tell you what I was thinking however, as I stared, glassy eyed with eyebrows painfully raised, into the bodybuilding section.

I thought, "Is it a fucking full moon, or what?!"

But, as we know, it's pretty much always a full moon at dear old Merrylands.

Ah yes, Merrylands.
Home to the world's hillbillies.
Each and every type of people represented at their very, very strangest and most charming.

A place where I've met folks who drink their own urine.
A place where the local Naturopath thinks she has stigmata.
A place where people bring me in gifts of illegal medicinal herbs and freaky giant zucchini.
A place where people knit Souths Sydney Rabbitohs dolls for me as well as for Paul, the local Santa, and let's not forget, a place which boasts people who are no less than "lactose intelligence".

I ask you, why would you want to be anywhere else?



And, yes, I said stigmata.