Death by Mercedes, what Cobblers
Author: Jenny T
This month our resident blogger Jenny T gets some perspective on life.
I’ve got concussion. Which has knocked The Rage off kilter entirely. Apparently the hydraulics that are hidden in the sticky up bits that keep your car boot up when it’s open have failed. I don’t normally notice it as Molly (the car) is parked in a downward dog position on my driveway, so gravity prevails. However, this morning we have driven to Hook, to the office, with lapdogs and huge handbags in the boot. So, in I went. Boot fell on my head. OUCH. But I think it has knocked some sense into me. The reception men – Mr Bennett and Sid – thought it was hilarious, especially as my colleague and I jammed ourselves into one segment of the revolving door by mistake. However, I have spent the day with a sore head, feeling slightly more mad than normal, and a little bit sick. But the menopause symptoms and The Rage have behaved nicely.
This reminds me of a shaggy dog story, and perhaps the knock on my head has reminded me that it’s only the menopause, not the end of our lives. Get some perspective woman.
There was a Jewish cobbler and he was always complaining about his feet as they were in constant pain. Every step he took hurt him. No-one understood what was wrong with his feet but his customers would constantly make suggestions such as a visit to the Dr, the chiropodist, the nurse, the hospital, check for bunions, have a pedicure, on and on. To each suggestion, he’d tut and shake his head and go about his cobbling. At the end of the day he would walk the 3 miles home, moaning all the way, in pain. His favourite customer, Mrs Goldsmith, would often pop buy with a bun for him, but these days she was worrying more and more about him, and nagging him to go to the doctor, until one day when the shop was empty she said ‘Nathan, what is WRONG with your feet, why are you in so much PAIN every day?’
So Nathan looked at her and said ‘My dear, I wear shoes that are two sizes too small so my toes are all squished in and crushed and it feels like I am walking on broken glass.’
Mrs Goldsmith couldn’t believe it. ‘Why, Nathan, why?’ she said, grabbing his arm across the swatches of leather between them. ‘Oh, Mrs Golsdmith, where do I begin?’ he said. ‘Let me tell you. I have debt three times the amount I am making. I have 7 children who take any money I make, eat me out of house and home, steal in the village, spit at the neighbours and are uncontrollable. My wife smells really bad, and she snores like a drain. My house leaks and when it rains we sit in puddles. My trousers have holes in and I haven’t eaten a piece of fruit for a hundred years. My shoes are two sizes too small and I hear you say, “But you’re a cobbler, make new SHOES”. Mrs Goldsmith my dear, I struggle to walk all day. I walk 3 miles to work, I am on my feet all day, and I walk 3 miles home. BUT, my dear lady, when I get home and eventually take my shoes off….I AM IN HEAVEN.’
I don’t know what the proverbial equivalent for us would be – but perhaps if we find a NICE distraction such as a lovely hobby, or some exercise – rather than a painful distraction like wearing hurty shoes or banging your head on a car boot – it could have the same effect?
What do you think ?
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