Wednesday, 6 January 2016

Scratch that itch..

Words from a Bird.  Day 6

Having spent the last few days advert free, courtesy of Dexter Morgan and Netflix (Season 8, Episode 7 last night), I felt that I had managed to bypass those very particular adverts that you tend to see around this time of year.  However, this was until the husband demanded, yes demanded, that he be allowed to watch Two and a Half Men last night.  This from the man who earlier on had told me that we had 51 minutes spare to watch another episode of Dexter. This was do-able as long as we skipped the starting credits. (You can see that he has mastered another forwarding).

So, we settled down to watch aforementioned sitcom about a good looking bloke living with a bit of an old woman (maybe that's why he likes it so much, there's things there that he can relate to), when the adverts came on.  Now, I don't mind the fact that DFS/SCS have sales on (same sale, similar sofa, different name) or that there are many, many places abroad where I shall never go.  It doesn't bother me that clothes I bought for Christmas are now half price, nor do the many references to juicers/blenders/soup makers/spiralizers(no idea what these are) irritate me.  I appreciate that these are all things to either look forward to sometime later in the year, or they are to encourage me to strive for physical excellence.

However, what I do take particular umbrage at, as I lay on the sofa (which is now turned around so as to give the left hand side springs a break) wearing the vacuum knickers I vowed to be out of by Monday is the KFC advert.  I am sure that they had bought extra air time to really drive home the sheer joy of a Bargain Bucket.  Now, they call this the 'Classic Crowd Pleaser'.  Well I am sorry, but by the time the advert was finished, I was thinking of it as a Meal-for-One, no crowd required.  Of course, we all know that once you have an itch, you are going to have to scratch it.  There was no way that I was going out in search of the Colonel, and the husband was eyeing me suspiciously as I sat there, eyes glazed over and salivating like a rabid dog.

So I did what every self respecting female would slice of rather curly ham from the back of the fridge, rolled up to mimic a drumstick,  liberally rubbed with a chicken stock cube, accompanied with the inside leaves of a wilting Little Gem Lettuce, liberally covered with Hellmans, and a bag of salt and vinegar crisps.  Yep that did it....

So my definition of KFC....'Keep Fingers Crossed' that I survive the day (that ham almost made its own way on to my plate).......
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