But promoted by women?

“Oh, and we’ve some very special features every woman should appreciate” (By this, ‘handbag cover’ is meant). Excuse me? Aside from being slightly grammatically incorrect, the patronising tone drives me up the wall. Not to mention the glaring pink sequined halter-neck top, the pink nails, the pink hairslide, the pink lipstick and eyeshadow and the very in-your-face, false silver “bling” around both wrists, and dangling from earlobe to collarbone.

Now, what’s going on here? Is Sheila’s Wheels car insurance being promoted by, God forbid, men?? Men who think all women who drive and are looking for reasonably priced car insurance are so … overall pink and cheesy?

My mother held the proffered page (from Marie Claire) to her eyes and blinked. Several times, very fast. “Is this for real?” Yes, mother, this is for real. “Car insurance for pink women? A free box of tampons when you sign the contract?“ Almost.

The whole thing is toenail-curlingly embarrassing. It really makes me cringe, you know? The ad was on TV once, and I happened to be too far away to switch it off fast enough. I couldn’t watch, I really couldn’t. I adopted the foetal position and stopped my ears against the tirade of pink ladies grinning from ear to ear and proclaiming:
“For ladies who insure their caaaaaaaaaaars
Sheila's wheels are superstaaaaaaaaars“

OK, it’s a step towards “banning sexual discrimination in the insurance market”, but next time, a little less pink? And a little less ditzy? And a less annoying ad?

Well. This is what happens when it's this hot. People don't dare step outside for fear of being overwhelmed by a wave of stifling heat and perhaps melting to meet the scorching ground with a trickle.

So, you resort to desperate measures. Such as lingering in the kitchen - just for the change, because face it, the sitting room gets boring after having spent the entire day in there devouring a 300 page book with a disappointing ending.

Once in the kitchen, you may well be tempted to peel a carrot, just for the sake of it. The carrots are there, the peeler is to hand, what could possibly be more natural than picking up the peeler and running it repetetively across a wilting carrot? Nothing, I say. To add a bit of excitement, you could think of possibly introducing the skin on your thumb to the peeler.

There is, of course, the dreaded possibility that you might find yourself standing in the kitchen, as lost as you were orginally, but with the added baggage of a peeled, soggy, sad carrot in your left hand. What to do with it? Perform a ritualistic voodoo ceremony? Chop it up, start a peeled-and-chopped-carrot collection? Peel another carrot to keep the original happy? Perhaps even name the carrots (or chunks of)? Carrot One, Carrot Two, Carrot Three...

Maybe eat the carrot? Out of pure boredom and hotness? It's a distinct possibility.