Corkscrew

Half an hour before the shops shut on Christmas Eve and I managed to find it – a mechanical cork screw, perfect for the elderly, arthritic relative who likes a hefty drop of wine.  It even came in a presentation gift box, giving it the illusion of being more than merely a practical present.

Full of high spirits having found the last item on my list, I decided to bide my time and approach the till when I’d be served by the pretty red head, rather than the overweight bald bloke.

I handed over the corkscrew with a festive verging on over-enthusiastic come-hither smile, she returned a less enthusiastic one.

“I should have the right change here.” I said with a swaggering head gesture.  That’s right baby, I’m a man on the case, prepared for any scenario where a variety of loose change might be necessary, you know you love it.

“These must be new ones.”  She indicated the brightness of the pound coins I’d given her.

“This year, I think.  That’s how I like them, the shiny ones always get me going.” I laughed and gave another smooth roll of my neck, hoping this would hide the fact that I’d failed at concocting a flirty double-entendre.  She didn’t join in with my merriment.

I made a show of having a swagger in my step as I thanked her and walked away.  There was no way I was going to let her eye rolling repulsion spoil my Christmas.