The Pets At Home Incident

"'Sup?"

To Pets At Home to buy a huge bag of charcoal biscuits in a desperate, yet doomed, attempt to control the gas emissions from our pair of canines.

I have chosen badly, for my visit coincides with the final week of the school holidays, and the place is rammed with small hyperactive children and their stressed-out mothers, wondering why this summer of Hell is never-ending.

I arrive at the tills to find one tiny tearaway hammering at the Perspex screen separating the rabbits from dozens of hyperactive six-year-olds, and his mother trying to drag him away while simultaneously trying to buy cat food an a fish tank.

"Stop it, Oscar," she says, in a voice that says "I'm so, so, so tired, please go back to school so I may sleep forever."

A minor miracle occurs, and Oscar stops bothering the bunnies and instead turns to me.

"I've got a rabbit, you know," he says.

Scared that any reply might render me some sort of kiddie-fiddler, I do my best to ignore him. But then Oscar lands the hammer blow.

"He's called Nipples."

"BWA HA HA HA HARRRGH!" I said, which I believe is the only acceptable response in the circumstances.

"Oscar!" Mum says, "What have I told you about strange men?"

I could not let this dreadful slur stand.

"Strange? He's the one being strange, lady."

She pays for her purchases, gathers her brood, and leaves.

"Help me. I'm so tired."