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Before you start with the questions let me clear something up.
I am gay, yes, and as such I do possess my fair share of superpowers, but I DO NOT see dead people. This kind of abilities are exclusive to Sally Morgan and Mystic Meg (together with a penchant for trashy magazines, fatty foods and flatulence...).
I am more the kind of home decorating/cake baking/opera loving/child rearing/eyebrows plucking type of superhero.... Sorry to disappoint.
My ghost was metaphorical, but none the less present!
Well, to get started, let me tell you that occasionally, although I don't like to admit it as I am a tremendous snob (...not really....I am quite a nice person... ask anyone... apart from my cousin Dina, she is a bitch...), as I was saying, occasionally I do some little bits of shopping down to my local Somerfield.
Now, there is absolutely nothing wrong with Somerfield, I actually find the range of their products quite amazing really and it's very conveniently located for me to just chuck Little G in the stroller and hop down whenever I run out of my cupboard basics.
What is TOTALLY wrong with it is the following:

- The mainly indian staff speak an english that I cannot understand (..well maybe it's my fault)
- The wine bottles are chained to the shelves (...yes, even the £2.99 bottles of Spanish paint stripper...)
-There is an alarming presence of teenage pregnant girls that walk around the shop with their side ponytails, spitting on the floor and eyeballing people up, almost as if they were pregnant cats looking for a fight.
- They keep on offering me a reward-card every time I visit, although I already have a stash at home with which I could easily open my own market stall or re-tile my bathroom.
- Glenda the cashier always asks me about my wife.

Ok, I don't mind a bit of chit-chat, I love friendly people just chatting you up in the elevators, at the bus stop, at the gym, and why not? At the supermarket. It's so american and I love americans. I say this because in London, the few times someone chatted me up (in a non-gay environment that is...), involved me pushing in the queue, me standing in somebody's way, me listening to my Ipod too loud, me me me..... In America everybody is much friendlier. Apart from the guys at the passport control desks at LAX airport. They're assholes.
But yet again, I digress.
So I was saying about Glenda...
Glenda is different.
First of all I must say that her appearance is already something remarkable. Glenda is a woman of colour (is it PC enough? Can I get away with saying that she is black?), she is quite a large person, likes to wear all the colours of the spectrum at once, has a big placid face and a frightening purple-ish whig on her head.
The whig itself does not appear to be fixed in any way to the head, and it seems to move of its own accord, just like a little dog curled up on the head of its owner. You can look twice and see that it had already moved.
The whig is styled as a bob with bangs, has the shine and appearance of fishing wire and more often than not, it's worn back to front. Probably she thinks it's a hat, and wears it in many different ways according to her mood.
Obviously this thing kills me.
I find it so hysterically funny that when Glenda has her whig out of place I pay at the self checkout because I just can't take it.
I can try to ignore it, but then Little G would be staring at it, blank in the face with his little mouth open, and that cracks me up.
In spite of the obvious elements of ridicule in her, I have to say, Glenda is quite a nice lady. Always smiling, always trying to be helpful. Always trying to save me money by reminding me "Why did you buy this floor cleaner? The Somerfield own brand is much cheaper!!!".
Yes it is, but it smells like cat piss and it probably is. No thanks Glenda.
"Oh thanks... But I just like this one..." I only reply smiling.
"Waste not want not!" is her usual answer. Whatever.
Anyway, on occasion, Glenda has asked me the following questions hinting about my wife. I divide the questions in three categories for precision's sake:

Category A: Vague and general
'How nice of you to take the baby out shopping and give mum a break'
'Awwww, is it your turn today to take baby out?'
'What a considerate husband. Is mum at the hairdressers?'

Category B: Downright intrusive
'Look what pretty eyes he's got. They must be your mummy's cause they're not like your daddy's'
'Did you have a fight with your wife? Usually we plonk the kids onto the father when we want to get back at them!'
'What a beautiful shaped head! Your wife must have had him through C-section, has she?'

Category C: Pure Psychosis
'Uh! Hi little one! You are here again! I saw you this morning with your mummy!'
'How's your wife? I have not seen her since last week!'
'You pretty boy... Look so much like his mummy! Doesn't he?'

Glenda seems to have a very good idea of what my wife looks like, how often she comes to the store to shop and how she delivered Little G.
There is only one problem. My wife doesn't exist.
I admit, the fault for Glenda stumbling upon a parallel universe where I am straight and have a wife, is partially mine, for not clearing up the air at the first occasion and usually I don't have a problem in doing so, but the whole roughness of a supermarket built next to a council estate, made me rethink my ways. So I kept my mouth shut.
I am very amused, but left with a huge curiosity about my virtual wife...
Who the hell is she? Does she live only in Glenda-World, is she somebody real that she picked randomly, assuming "This one must be his wife!" ?
More frighteningly, is she one of those teenage pregnant ASBOS?
I've got no answer to these questions I'm afraid.... We'll see, maybe I will come out to Glenda one of these days so she will have to cough up the truth.
It better be funny.
Stay tuned....