the day of the blow up doll(s)

or, I went and renewed my Senior First Aid certificate on the weekend.

Everyone who did it passed (of course) but I have some serious doubts about the quality of the course providers. When I did their course year or three ago, the presenter was deliciously anal (Porny? I really must review my personal repertoire of descriptive terms) about making sure we knew the difference between and were able to breathe air into lungs and not stomachs, and compress, not fan, the appropriate area of their chest, not some random area somewhere south of their eyebrows. The instructor we had yesterday would have been okay, had we all been taking a class in kissing and groping. One of the other class participants kind of batted away at one of those freaky armless, legless, with mouth open in a disturbing way blow up dolls, ineffectively making contact with her own fishlips every now - and she PASSED! This woman couldn't even use the idiot proof defibrillator's, and they're idiot proof! Oh, wait. I said that. I shouldn't care but I do. I DO! Mostly because I'm a control freak about quality of service, (I really am quite a pain in the caboosky about that) and also because haybus crispy! If I get a qualification, I want to know it's because I earned it, not because I paid for it. And it'd be reassuring to know that any of those clowns out there packing a first aid certificate actually could save my life, in the event. You know?