Your Moose or Mine?

Apparently if you give a Swedish moose an apple it gets drunk.

I have never given a Swedish moose an apple firsthand, but I believe this to be true because a Swedish person told me it was true, so it must be.

According to this Swedish person, who isn’t called Inga, this happens because the apple ferments in the moose’s stomach, and if you happen to be in Sweden near an apple tree and a moose, at the right time and you look out of your window (presuming you also have a window,) you can watch in sheer awe (I would be in awe anyway) as hammered moose’s (moosei?) drunkenly bounce off trees, knock over lampposts and generally behave like you would expect Swedish drunk mooses to behave.

(I believe it is only British moose’s that ask for kebabs, make drunken phone calls to their ex moose’s (moosei?) and hang their high heels off their antlers on the cold walk home, but this may not be a fact so you may want to check it with the British Moose tourist board before telling anyone else. Or not. You know. Your choice. Whatever.)

This all happens because the moose ate an apple.

They must know, (the moose) from trial and error I imagine, what the outcome of eating an apple will be, and yet, they still eat them.

Maybe they continue to eat them because basically, they want to and they actually know what they like? And who’s business is it but theirs really anyway?

(Unless it is always different moose’s eating the apples? But how many moose can there actually be in Sweden? I didn’t get in to this with the Swedish person but I am assuming here, that a moose, lets call him Tony for the purpose of this example, will go out, sink twenty apples, get steaming drunk, knock over a tree, manage to get home somehow, although he has no recollection of it, and wake up the next morning moosificantly hung-over, swear he is never eating an apple again, but then when all his moose friends invite him out again, he eventually goes back to the apple farm and starts the cycle all over again. I mean, I’m no David Attenborough but come on! How different from humans can they actually be? The moose is called Tony!)

Anyway, last week I bought new boots. Sensible thick soled boots. Boots I wouldn’t usually be caught dead in but I bought them anyway because in all honesty I was getting a bit sick of people telling me to be careful I didn’t fall when they saw me carrying Addison in my normal 7 inch stilettos.

Cause and effect at its most simplest, people.

Someone tells me not to fall, so I think I need flat shoes. Because they must be right! I DON’T HAVE MY OWN MIND!!! I shouldn’t be wearing high shoes, mothers don’t wear high shoes, I’m a bad mother… yada yada yoda…Anyway…

Yesterday, while wearing these new boots, carrying Addison out of the doctors office, texting my other half to tell him Addison was fine, feeding Addison an apple and generally multi-tasking like only a mother can, I fell absolutely antler over tit and ended up sliding about a mile down a gravel hill, using my face as a break pad to slow us both down to a grinding halt.

My phone screen is smashed, my shoulder may or may not be sticking out of my spinal chord at a jaunty angle, my wrist is refusing to cooperate with the rest of my body and my face looks like something the dog actually dragged in, across sandpaper.

Addison has a small bump on his head but testament to my thrill seeking two year old, the moment we slid to a bumpy stop and I had spat out a mouthful of stones and dust, twisted around to see how he had come off, half expecting the passersby’s observing to be holding up score cards, such was the magnitude of my Olympic dive, he gave me a toothy grin, burst out laughing and shouted, and I quote ‘again again! Mama, again! Funny mama!’

Meanwhile I lay on the floor in the middle of the road, like a hung-over moose, groaning and moaning and swearing to never wear flat shoes again.

I like wearing high shoes. I am aware of the potential risks, why can’t I trust myself to make my own decisions?

I’m not sure what the full point of this post was. I did, but it’s gone.

Basically, I guess, some things are inevitable? Like learning lessons the hard way?

Maybe I should trust my own judgment not the opinions of others?

My son is mental?

Sweden sounds like a cool place?

I need more sleep?

My medication is too strong?

You decide. I can’t make up my mind.

But I do want a pet moose.

And an apple tree.

I know that much.


10 Comments on “Your Moose or Mine?

  1. Very nice moosey blog. It reminds me of a parody of “On The Street Where She Lives”: “I have never owned a pet moose before, for a pet moose I’ve just never had a use before…”

    Thank you. And I hope Addison appreciates your high shoes.

  2. PMSL! I seriously wondered where that was going for a while. I am thoroughly entertained by the idea of a drunk moose and shall be booking flights to Sweden asap to see this! You probably fell over because your sense of balance was off as you’re so used to wearing heels! Lol. But seriously, nobody has the right to make you feel like you shouldn’t wear something you love. Crumbs, I wish I could still wear heels but I can’t even stand up in them to begin with let alone move around or do anything useful! I say embrace the heels – they’re part of you! x

  3. Am loving your mooseology missus!!!! Bloody excellent. Always listen to your own instinct, no bugger else has to deal with the consequences!! xxx

  4. Tony the moose sound like a bit of an alco to me but each moose to their own. I just had my Swedish friend here I should of asked her to confirm the moose story too. Sorry you fell I go back to heels if I were you toots, much safer!! Love you like a moose loves apples

  5. Oh an apple tree!! I want one. Not the moose. It’d be too much to clean up after.

    I think you just want to tell people to screw off. Just because you’re mentally ill doesn’t mean you can’t think for yourself and do what’s best for your family. Mostly…I know I struggle with it now and again but you said in the beginning of the post that you could handle the high boots!

    My score card would have been a 10. Fo shizzle!


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