Saturday 1 February 2020

The Foostie Cabbage Fiasco Part 3

Mary's "Foostie Cabbage!" growl took a while tae fade fae the room, it reverberated roond the room a couple o times at eye-level, leavin Mary's mooth as she hung oantae the sink an swingin past the rest o us aw lookin at Mary hingin oantae the sink afore it left by the door tae the lobby. We aw had oor hands up at oor mooths, Mary Hopkins an masel wi bacon rolls in oor paws, Mary the Mother o God haudin a stick o rhubarb atween her twa drawn-in cheeks an Mary Whitehouse wi a custard cream half in mid bite. We looked at Mary, then follaed her blazin gaze doon tae the poly bag sittin in the middle o the flair...

Ah cannae mind fer the life o me now if it wis a Spar bag or a St Cuthbert's but it wis an ordinary-lookin poly bag, an lyin there it looked like a wee hot-air balloon that had crashed oan the carpet, fae the screwed-up handles at one end, tied wi a bit twine that looked like the wicker basket had unravelled, tae the polythene stretched ower the globe shape at the other. There wis a moistness tae it an where the bag wis stickin tae whitever wis inside there wis a definite greenish tinge.

Mary let go o the sink wi one hand and pointed at the bag, her eyes still had a redness tae them, "That!" she croaked, "That wis sittin at the back o the cleanin shelf. It's wet! An it stinks!" She took a couple o steps taewards the bag an stretched oot her airm, gingerly picked it up by the string an handed it, airm ootstretched, tae Mary Immaculate, who took it an passed it straight oan tae Mary Whitehouse wi a rhubarb in her mooth an a glaikit look oan her face, Mary took it an went tae look in, but somethin obviously hit her in the nose an she recoiled, pushin the bag away in the direction o Mary Hopkins. Mary similarly went tae open the handles an got the same kickback, puckering up her nose an makin her tongue stick right oot, straight oot. Mary shoved it ower intae ma hands.

Tae a chorus o retchin noises an "Oh!" an "My God!" an "Cabbage" ah picked at the bit twine an loosened the knot, ah gently drew at the handles an keeked in. Ah pit the bag doon oan the flair at ma feet an ah can mind lookin up at Mary Hopkins an openin ma mooth...

Then ah shut it. Naw. Ah picked the bag up again an drew the handles apart an caught the full force o a blast o the maist putrid an sickly smell ye could ever imagine, corrupt an foul but wi a medicinal sweetness that seemed tae gie it extra cling, an ah could feel it wrappin itsel up inside ma nostrils, the air comin up fae the bag seemed tae hae a thickness tae it that ah had tae peer through... Naw.

Ah dropped the bag at ma feet again an ah mind lookin up at Mary Whitehouse an openin ma mooth again, ah could taste that sickly sweetness... But Naw. Surely no.

Mary Hopkins starts, "See you an yer flamin cabbages!" she aims this at Mary Whitehouse, "How long's that been there? Nae wonder this place smells!" but Mary looks back aw innocent an says "That's not my bag, I get my cabbages from Farmer Jack's..." an she's got a point, Mary never touches polythene ye see, she's in the Ecology Party, plus she wid never be seen deid shoppin in the Store. Mary swings roond at Mary Peters, who looks like Mary's swung a gun at her an throws her hands in the air, "No me Mary, if ah'd known it was there ah wouldnae have stuck ma hand in it!" so she burls roond tae The Virgin who jist sits there lookin like a tube.

Ah picked the bag up again an looked up at Mary. Ma mooth opened again but Mary got in first, "Aw don't tell me Sophia, don't tell me you've taken tae hidin foostie cabbages in the lobby press, ah wid've thought you wid hae mair sense. Ah hope it's no like that thing wi the shampoo bottles-" but afore she said mair ah got ma voice back an cut right across her,

"Mary, that's no a foostie cabbage an ye know ah've got difficult hair an ah need tae be sure ah've got enough Heid an Shooders tae last me, that's no fair..."

"Aye but twa dozen bottles Sophia, c'mon, even Cousin It disnae hae that bad dandruff!"

"Stop it. Listen." ah looked fae Mary tae Mary... tae Mary...

an at last tae Mary...

"Mary, this is a fiasco, but that's nae foostie cabbage!" an ah laid the bag at ma feet an peeled it open... "Mary, that's a brain!"

An there in the middle o the flair, in a wrinkled nest o polythene, lay a glistenin greenish-grey brain... ye really couldnae mistake it fer anythin else, an certainly no a cabbage except fer it bein green, but funnily enough that wis exactly whit the Four Marys' faces looked like at precisely that moment, four glaikit cabbages, the only yins in the room bar the claggy remains o yin sittin in the pot. Not a sound hung in the air... jist the smell o whit definitely wisnae a foostie cabbage...


The Foostie Cabbage Fiasco Part 4

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