I went to the supermarket to get shampoo today. Why is that every time I go to get shampoo to shampoo my hair, I can't just get ordinary shampoo? There's shampoo that is redolent of the rose, and shampoo that leaves my hair blushing and tinctured with a faint odour of a Bavarian forest in the morn, and shampoo that leaves my hair with the bounce of a new-born fawn, and shampoo that is like a field of hollyhock, clover, and jonquils newly bloomed. Some shampoos trumpet their chemical virtues, insisting that they contain carbolic acid (that nourishes!), and hydraulic acid (from the roots to the tips!), or diesel (encouraging new, stronger, virile and masculine hair!) Others are made from all natural ingredients: the tears of a duck, freshly wept, and rubbed across the cheeks of a blushing Navaho babe, before being gently dissolved through the new-plucked hairs of a mountain goats gonads (for instance). Then, as if to go one better, there are the shampoos that trumpet their environmental virtues. This bottle is kind to the whales, another saves rainforests, a third nourishes the soil in fringe desert communities (though it's not clear whether all this happens before, after, or during the shampoo is in your hair. Maybe it doesn't do your hair at all.) And this is not to mention at all the line of budget shampoos, the shampoos which 'get in, do the job, and get out, fast!', shampoos with names like 'Wham' and 'Slam' and 'Clam', punctuated liberally with exclamation marks and barcodes and made of essence of cardboard. (They leave a cute little barcode tattooed neatly across your hair after you have showered.)
I tell you, the collective malodour of unguents and chemicals and horse dung and commerce rising from the supermarket shelf would have been enough on their own to give me a massive stomach ache. Thankfully, I'd anticipated this and already earlier in the day from a late lunch, but it was a close one, Jeeves, a very close one.
And while we're at it, on a completely unrelated subject, what happened to the old magazine stand at Flinders Street Station? Time was a discerning traveller could collect a copy of The Spectator or the New Yorker or an interesting new science magazine from it. Nowadays, all that's gone, and all you have is a load of crap, neatly filed away under helpful meaningless titles such as Untertainment, General Disinterest, and Weakly Publications.
I ask you, what is this world coming to?
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