A wee spot of bother

On an almost weekly basis I’ll be in the car, singing along to the radio, when someone I know drives past just as Whitney and I are hitting the high note.

My mum likes to remind me of the time I was a little girl and she caught me stroking the seat of our sofa where a good looking friend of the family had just been sat (he was at least 20 years my senior and had left a lovely warm patch that I was quite taken with).

I’ve also been ticked off (many times) for buying 12 items in the ‘ten or less’ aisle at Booths and, slovenly girl that I am, have been spotted swigging the last drop from a bottle of wine.

But I would never be so shameless as to wee at the side of a busy road, like the man I spotted driving into Kendal one morning this week.

It was just as you come off the bypass, past Shenstone roundabout. He’d pulled up in the layby on the left and was stood at the rear of his car, proud as punch, watering the grass.

Anyone who’s come into town at rush hour lately will know that you queue along this stretch in a morning and, as my luck always goes, I was the one who ended up paused alongside the scene.

Although I wasn’t really interested in seeing what he had to offer, I decided to watch him in action, hoping he would spot me and feel some sort of shame. As he finished he did indeed glance my way and as he did so, began shaking himself, as men do. He then got back into his car and joined the queue behind me.

Half amused, half repulsed, I relayed this tale to my table of male colleagues when I arrived at work. “He must have been exposed to dozens of people, some of them with kids in the car,” I said.

But there was barely an eyebow raised and one chirped up ‘when you’ve gotta go ...’ I later asked a female colleague if she’d seen him as she drove in and she seemed disappointed she hadn’t. “Why don’t I get to see a willy on the way to work?” she asked, with a laugh.

So tell me, am I the only one who thinks this is wrong?