“Are you feeling run down?
Is every day a struggle for you to get through?
Has ambition become little more than wishful thinking?
Then you need…..”
“Enough!” thought Weeds Tussock. He’d read enough, and so far, everything he read was a summary of his life.
The more he read, the worse he felt, after all, his life was challenging on any good day.
He was at the bottom of the employment ladder, he was sure his employer kept him on more out of loyalty than because of his productivity. His marriage had failed, and his ex-wife was now living in the Blue Mountains with a guy who sold swimming pools. His children preferred to not see him saying he was an embarrassment to them, and he understood their point of view.
When he reflected on his life as he often did, as in the long hours between day light, he slept haphazardly and had a lot of time to think.
Maybe he should have been a poet he thought. His mum had always said he had a way with words:
“Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
What a shame
You’ve come down with the flu.”
The trouble, Weeds thought, was that from birth he had been up against it. His real name was Scott Alexander Tussock, but from his first day at school, the nickname ‘Weeds’ had been attached to him and stuck. Added to that he was a short kid, the basketball team was never an option, he hated pain and physical contact, so football was out, he wasn’t strong enough to play tennis and the only sport he stood any hope of playing was cricket as he had the right stature to be a wicket-keeper, but he disliked the game, so nothing came of that.
When he finished school, he went to the local TAFE to do a course in accounting as his father said accountants were always in work. Weeds was an efficient accountant, but that was all he was. He was a good team player but never a leader, and so he never progressed in the firm of Ledger, Payroll and Balance.
As the years passed, Weeds found the monotony of his job depressing and here he was today reading an advertisement for Dr Calm’s Uplifting Medicinal Rub. The ad said you simply rubbed it on and then awaited the uplift it gave you.
“What a load of rubbish,” thought Weeds but as he was desperate, he ordered two bottles, “What harm could it do?” he wondered.
Weeds Tussock retired from the accounting firm, he took himself on an overseas holiday, cruised the Rhine River and stood in wonder in front of the Eiffel Tower. Each night he rubbed some of the medicinal rub onto his private bits and sat back, he had never felt so good, so alive, he walked with a renewed spring in his step, he engaged in earnest conversation with his fellow travellers and more importantly he came to understand he had far more to offer than he ever realised.
Straightening his tie, he headed out, his date with Moyra from the upper deck was something he was looking forward to.
Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2019/08/22/tale-weaver-237-22nd-august-weeds/
Like the name you gave him, Weeds.
Thanks Sadje a bit of fun all round
Yes, good fun.
A wonderfully uplifting rub. 🙂
Poor Weeds…I feel quite sorry for him.
No one could see the beauty in weeds, including himself
Hmmm.. Maybe if he rubs some on his heart hell fall in love… Lovely tale Michael…
Thanks so much Violet
Nick names can be as destructive as real names. When there were those old thick phone directory books around one could be entertained for hours finding odd names like Ima Pigg, or a Urologist named I.P. Daily…
Fun story with a happy ending.
You are right about nicknames but I’ve also known some that were very complimentary.
The roots of a complex often lie in childhood. They say a child’s personality is formed in the first eight years. It is either strengthened or weakened in the rest of one’s life, but rarely does it get completely erased.