Bumbag Crisis: I'm Going Nuts
I realised while I was waiting in line at the chemist today that I have strange feelings about people who wear bumbags. I know this because there was a man with long black eyelashes (like my friend I mentioned before) wearing a bumbag and I just couldn’t stop thinking about it the whole time I was waiting. Obviously I’m still thinking about it or I wouldn’t be writing this post.
The Bumbag Man had a bumbag similar to the one pictured above. I think that’s actually a woman in the picture, but that’s fine—I’m not fussy when it comes to minor things like gender.
I know it’s called a bum bag but usually it’s actually worn at the front, in which case the American term fanny pack makes more sense. Although in America fanny means bum so it still doesn’t work. Anyway, I much prefer it when people wear it at the front—it reminds me of a sporran and I think it would be easier to get things out quickly.
Surely that’s the whole point! The time it takes to reach down to waist-level, unzip a bumbag, and pull out a required item must be less than five seconds. It’s probably less than three seconds and that’s pretty exciting.
When I see a Bumbag Man, I have four thoughts:
-
What is in your bumbag?
-
Can I please unzip your bumbag?
-
Can I please feel around in your bumbag?
-
Can I please put a small item inside your bumbag for you to carry around all day?
The first is the most important. Most men rely on their pockets to store things such as wallets, keys, and phones. If a man is wearing a bumbag, it’s not unreasonable to suspect that he’s carrying an extra item that can’t be easily stored in his pockets. I spent my time in the queue trying to imagine what things he had stashed away in his b-bag. Some possibilities:
-
prescription
-
glasses
-
loose cash and coins
-
pen
-
small bottle of gin
-
bandaids
-
hand sanitiser
-
mascara
-
pocket dictionary
-
diary
-
pack of smokes
-
bus ticket
-
lottery ticket
-
plane ticket
-
movie tickets
-
chocolate
-
strawberries
-
rose petals
-
parking ticket
As I compiled this list in my head, I realised that the best possible kind of man is a man who wears a bumbag—a man who could be carrying one or several of these items around at any given time, or even items I didn’t think of. He could take me to the beach and as we’re walking along he could pull bits of chocolate out for me to eat, like a little dog treat. That would really make me like him a lot!
And then I got to thinking: I wonder what it would be like if he wore just a bumbag.
Maybe I shouldn’t really be thinking about that. Sometimes it occurs to me that my thoughts are recorded and stored somewhere in the fabric of time and space, which would be pretty bad. Or maybe reality is a computer and all my thoughts are stored as files on the computer, like manwearingnothingbutabumbagfulloffunsizedkitkats.bmp. In a way I think if I record my thoughts and put them on the internet I don’t have to worry so much about the whole time and space/computer thing because I already exposed them WILLINGLY.
But sometimes it seems possible that if I have thoughts about someone, they will know or feel it somehow. However, Alan Goldsmith told me that’s not true and I can think about whatever I like—I just can’t believe that!
I said, “Anything?”
And he said, “Yeah.”
And I said, “Absolutely anything?”
And he said, “Yep.”
And I said, “Anything at all?”
And he said, “Yes.”
And I said, “Are you sure?”
And then he told me I’m nuts, which is true. Nuts about PIGEONS!
Of course, the real question is: does this Bumbag Man know what he’s done to me? Can he feel all my thoughts pressing into his back as he laughs maniacally, slowly unpacking all the things out of his bumbag and lining them up like trophies on his kitchen counter?
Next time I see someone wearing a bumbag I’ll try very hard to pluck up the courage to ask what’s in there because I don’t have the time or energy for this to happen again. It’s probably boring stuff but I just want to know for sure because maybe this guy had a little golden dagger in there or some opals or something illegal like a small bag of cocaine. I don’t care what it is—I just want to know!