Today I stopped by Bunnings just to get a sausage. I wandered in the door to make it look like I had a legitimate reason to be there and all I did was pat a dog (yes, people can and do take their dogs to Bunnings, note to single men out there, take your dogs to Bunnings, it is an excellent place to pick up).
Once I felt like I’d done enough to disguise my reason for visiting, I jumped in line, surrounded by people balancing bags of soil, new plants to shove in their garden and genuine power tools. There I was, empty arms, free hands ready to grab the snag as it was placed in front of me. I certainly didn’t feel even a pang of guilt (okay, maybe just a little…)
You see, the only thing that I’d achieved so far at that stage in the day was getting out of bed, showering (the thoroughness of which could be questioned) and meeting a friend for brunch. Yep, you read that correctly; I ate fancy hipster brunch (I paid $14 for a toasted sandwich that, granted, tasted like it had been carefully constructed by heavenly angels) and as that substantial yet probably overpriced jaffle was still digesting, I took a detour on my way home just so that I could shove a charity snag down my gullet too. $2.50 is what I directed towards the Mile End Rotary Club (I’m not sure of their profit margin, maybe they only made 50c out of that interaction, maybe they pocketed $2).
I think guilt and shame were probably the two biggest things I felt at that moment, closely followed by confusion as to why I felt so strongly about having consumed a sausage in any way at all. Surely I had more important things to be concerned about? Nah not really, it was a Saturday afternoon and I’m a middle class white woman. Sure there are still plenty of challenges facing us but I have a strict “feminism in business hours only” policy (I’ll explain it some time, but it’s the weekend now so I can’t) so I was feeling fairly care free.
One thing I do know about myself is that regardless of how full I am, there are certain things that I will always make room for in my stomach; brie, double brie, triple brie, vintage cheddar with pickled onions, chocolate covered pretzels and Bunnings sausages. So help me God if all of those things are readily available in the one location at the one time.
Should I feel ashamed about the power that my tastebuds hold over me? From an ethical stand point, probably. From a social stand point though? Nah, get stuffed. Life was made for living and Bunnings sausages were made for binging on. There’s just something about them that makes them way better than the snags that you’ll consume at a family BBQ but I just can’t put my finger on it…oh yeah it’s the relative anonymity (if you choose a Bunnings far away enough) and the lack of judgment from Aunty Joan; “If you eat another bite you’ll never look good in a white dress dear.” Oh shut it sugar, at least I’ve still got time to fix myself, you made that mistake 20 years ago sweets – and it wasn’t your ass that was the problem, it was your face. Yeah.
Despite the fleeting confused feelings earlier in the day, at home later I realised; when you can make a microwave meal without double checking the box instructions then you know you’re in a special place in life. You’ve been eating meals of sadness just long enough to be aware exactly how they should be prepared but not long enough to just hit up eat now or Uber Eats every day (that’ll come in about three months time).
I’m not stuck in that place forever but that’s where I found myself today. And shit, they’re getting so good at making meals in a box that I rekon I’ll just stay home and dodge queues at the hardware store – especially if someone starts a delivery service where an average looking guy brings over a dog and lets you pat it and suddenly you think he’s an absolute hunk.