MONA

So, Charlie, Jade and I are at Iris’s the other week for dinner.

I actually think it was the night that Charlie decided to get into the Movember thing.

Iris and I were discussing how revolted we were by mousties, and I said to Charlie that it would be the perfect contraception to keep you away from me (cos he’s only human and can’t keep his hands off me).

I don’t know what Charlie and I said, but Jade quietly says ‘Good, cos I’m sick of hearing you both.’

My heart literally stops beating.  ‘Fucken what?’ I say.

‘Sometimes I can hear you…’ she says causally.

‘Doing what?’ I ask.

*insert teenager sighing impatiently* ‘Together… in your room… special cuddles…’

‘What?’ I gasp.  ‘You can’t hear us! We’re quiet!’

‘Not always.’

‘Good one Mona,’ Charlie says with a smirk, shovelling roast potato into his fucken food hole.

‘Go fuck yourself!’ I say to him.  ‘You can’t hear us!  We’re quiet…’

‘He is.’ She points to her father.  ‘You’re not.’

AAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!  ‘What! You cant’ possibly hear us!’ I cry in horror.  ‘You can’t!’

Jade just gives me a sideways look. 

‘What do you hear?’

‘What do you think?’ she asks sarcastically.

‘Lady noises?’ I ask shyly.  She laughs and nods, and Iris loses it.  Starts pissing herself laughing.  ‘Mum!  Don’t laugh!  This is serious!  I could have permanently damaged this child!  What a horrible thing to hear! OMG! She’ll need therapy!’

‘Do I ever…’ Jade mutters, eating her veggies, and turning back to the telly.

‘Do something!’ I smack Charlie on the arm.

‘What the fuck do you want me to do?  You’re the one making all the noise…’ he smirks.

‘I am fucken not!’ I cry in despair.  ‘You can’t really hear us… can you?’

‘Yeah.  It’s okay though.’ She smiles encouragingly.  ‘I just think here they go again! And plug in my headphones’

‘OMG!’ I smack Charlie on the arm again, and he rubs it complaining.  ‘She has to wear HEADPHONES!’

‘Calm down.’

‘I won’t calm down!  We’ve damaged her! OMG! I’m so embarrassed! She heard my lady noises!’ I wail.  ‘That’s your fault!’ I point at him.

‘How the fuck is it my fault?’

‘You make me make the lady noises! It’s your fault!’ I say.  ‘It his fault.’ I say to Jade, pointing at her father.

‘He not the one making the noises.’ She smiles, and Mum starts laughing again.

‘Mum! What the fuck?’ I ask in despair.

‘It’s okay Lee,’ Jade says, trying to stop me from totally losing my shit.  ‘Just shut your bedroom door.’

‘It is shut.’ Charlie and I say in unison.

‘Oh.’ she says quietly, and I drop my head in my hands.  OMG.  I’m so embarrassed.  Jade’s heard my lady noises.  That’s Charlie’s fault. It has to be.  Somehow, this is Charlie’s fault.

‘I can’t believe this…’ I mutter.  ‘I’m so embarrassed…’

‘So you should be.’ Charlie quips, and starts laughing when I look at him in horror.

‘Look at Grandma!’ Jade laughs, and I turn to see Iris crying with laughter.

‘Fine fucken support you are, Mum!’ I laugh.  ‘Jesus… I think I’m the one that needs therapy now… I’ve broken Jade… she’ll never function properly now… OMG…’

‘I think she’ll be fine.’ Charlie says.

‘What the fuck would you know?  She’ll possibly be so traumatised; she’ll become a lesbian in hoping that she doesn’t make those lady noises with a boy!’

‘Ooooh…. Lesbians….’ Charlie fantasizes.

‘No! Not appropriate! Daughter!!!’ I wail at him.

‘I wasn’t thinking of her, you idiot!’ he says to me.  ‘I was thinking of other lesbians…’

‘What the fuck have I married… seriously….’

For the next few days, all I could think about was Jade hearing me have special cuddles with her father.    OMG… how embarrassing…

A couple of nights later, Charlie gets a little amorous with me, and I’m like ‘we can’t do anything, Jade will hear us!’ and I slapped his hands away and crawled over to the far corner of the bed away from him.

‘No chance?’

‘NO!’ I cried in horror.

A few nights after that, Charlie and I were heading off to bed, and Jade was already in bed.  Charlie bangs on her bedroom wall as we walk past ‘time for some special cuddles, Mona!’

Both Jade and I scream in horror.  I had visions of Jade groping around (pardon the pun) for her headphones, nail gunning them to her head, and cranking the music up to about 20 decibels.  Poor kid.

I curled up in a foetal position in the far corner of the bed again.  ‘NO!’ I cried when Charlie touched me.

A few nights after that, when I think I’ve finally started to recover from my shock, Charlie cuddles up to me on the couch and starts kissing me.  Jade walks past the lounge and calls out ‘Get a room, Mona!’

AAAHHHHH!!!

Things will never be the same again.

Peace out.

QUASIMODO

The dentist.

Oh how I love the dentist.

After the last incident where they forgot my fucken appointment (don’t even get me started on that again), I just didn’t want to go.  I just couldn’t be fucked.

My knee was killing me, I was tired, grumpy and over it all. 

However, because I missed out on my last appointment, through no fault of my own, my teeth were becoming a little tender.

I needed two fillings.  Badly.  They were starting to shit me, so I had to go. 

After screaming and crying as I clambered into the car, I headed down to sunny Kilmore to deal with my fate.

I’m sitting in the waiting room no more than five minutes (two chapters of my book!), when the dental nurse calls me in.  Forgetting my knee, I stand up, gasp in pain, and collapse back into the chair.  Fucken knee!

The nurse is beside me instantly. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes…’ I laugh at my own stupidity.  ‘I hurt my knee yesterday, and I forgot myself.  I stood up normally, and paid for it, is all.’ I replied as we hobbled up the corridor to the white room of pain.

I sat myself down, relatively easily, in the torture chair, and explained to the dentist about my non-bouncability.  I then advise her that the crowns she planned on doing are off the table, because my private health cover will leave me about two grand out of pocket.  Fuck that.  I think she was a little shattered.

So today was going to involve just two fillings.  Best to get the torture over in one hit, hey? It will be over in about forty-five minutes.  It will be over in about forty-five minutes.

She pumps me full of needles to dull the filling areas (God forbid I feel anything), and as the anaesthetic kicks in, I look around the completely bland, clinical room and marvel that there are no dust bunnies anywhere.  This place is fucken immaculate.  How do they keep it so clean? Next time I come in, I’m wearing muddy boots just to fuck this shit up.

I need a housekeeper.  I need to win Tattslotto, so I can afford a housekeeper.  And a gardener.  And a man-servant.

An hour later, I hobble back out to reception, where I somehow have to tell the chick behind the desk (who is a lovely lady, even though she fucked up my last appointment) that I’m done and want to pay.

I sound like I’m mentally disabled (no disrespect), and have this constant feeling that I’m drooling everywhere.  Great.  Cos this isn’t at all embarrassing.  Though, I’m sure she’s seen this a million times before.

I get out of there as quickly as I can, two hundred dollars lighter (even after private cover).  The upside is that my handbag’s not as heavy now all of that money is gone. *rolls eyes

I fall into my car (literally) and head back into Kilmore.  I ring Mum, and whilst unintentionally talking like a retard, tell her I’m not going to call in, and I’m just going to pick up a couple of things from Coles, and head home.  I’m spent.

Between my aching knee and numb face, I’m truly defeated.

I try to take a sip of water from my bottle, but end up wearing it, because I have no fucken control over my mouth.  Great.  Can’t walk, cant talk and now spilling shit everywhere.  Clarsy.

I pull into the Coles car park and sit there for a minute deliberating.  Can I really handle this tonight?  Really?

What if I bump into someone I know?  I usually do when I’m in there?  OMG… they’re going to laugh their arses off at me limping like a gimp and drooling everywhere…

I flip down the visor and look at myself in the mirror.  I look fine.  Then I smile and frighten the shit out of myself.  I look like I’ve had a stroke! Half my fucken face is frozen!   One side is like normal, and the other is like all smiley! Pins and needles are starting to sing everywhere, and I’m smiling like a fucken freak.   What the hell am I doing?

I somehow manage to get out of the car without breaking my knee, and I quickly hobble into Coles, which in reality, is not physically possible.  There is no ‘quick’ about me at all.

Gone is my grace and poise; replaced with a fucken ridiculous looking limp that turns heads, and all I could think is please don’t see someone you know!  With this fucked up knee you can’t even run away to hide your stupid, numb stroke-like face!

I hurriedly limp around the isles, quickly grabbing the few items I needed, and hobbled to the self serve checkouts.  I’m convinced that whoever created these self-serve checkouts had clearly been to the dentist, and didn’t want to have to face or speak to anyone with their numb face, and just pay for their shit and get the fuck out.

And I do just that.  I get through the checkouts unscathed, hobble to the car, grit my teeth as I cram my busted up arse into the drivers seat, and I’m home free.

When Charlie and Jade get home, I’ve been chilling on the couch for about half an hour, ice pack on knee.

Jade comes in and starts banging on about her day (typical teenager), and when I start talking, her face freezes in horror.  ‘What’s happened to your face?’

‘Dentist.  Anaesthetic for the filling.  It numbs your face.  Well… part of it…’ I explain, whipping at the non-existent drool.  Jade just blinks a couple of times, and bursts out laughing.  She’s never had a filling in her life, so she’s never experience this or seen it before.

‘You look hilarious! Hahahahaha!’

‘Fucken thanks!’

She pauses, looks at me when I speak, and starts laughing again.  Then she starts imitating me, pulling stupid sideways faces, and speaking like an idiot.  This of course makes me start laughing, which causes more stupid faces, which causes more hysteria at my fucken expense.

Then of course, Charlie comes in, laughs at me, calls me gumby, and leaves again.  Nice.

I’m so pleased that fucking up my knee and having my face mummified over the last twenty four hours gives the people that are supposed to care about me, such pleasure.

I waited as long as I could, until I got the majority of feeling back in my face, before I organised dinner.  It was a nice dish of bbq snags and salad, not that I could taste any of it with my half-fucken-numb face, and not that I was comfortable sitting at the table with my fucked up ‘I can’t bend’ knee.

Just kill me now.

Then of course, the anaesthetic starts to wear off, and my jaw starts aching. 

Of course it would.  Much to Charlie’s disappointment, I can’t actually open my mouth very wide.  Having to sit there with my mouth forced open for fuck knows how long in the white room of pain, it is really starting to ache now.

So, numb face is substituted for an aching jaw, and I still have my fucked knee.

Seriously.  Could this week become any more challenging?

*sigh

Peace out.

FAT CHICKS DON'T BOUNCE

This is something that I have come to learn over the past couple of days.

You see, my body is designed for one thing: comfort.  Comfort on lots of levels.  For example; enjoying food and cooking, cuddling my nieces and nephews, special cuddling Charlie (best comfort of all), or just chillin’ out.

What it is not built for, is moving quickly and bouncing.

When the moving quickly is initiated, it results in me falling and not bouncing.

It result is me falling and staying fallen.

I remember when I was younger, I use to bounce.  I also use to have good reflexes that would stop me before I fell and needed to bounce.

Now all of that’s failed me. My own preservation system has let me down.

I remembered this whilst I was laying on the floor of the kitchen last Sunday morning, just before Charlie was to head out to a golf competition, and Jade and I were to head out to a family picnic.

Whilst they were laughing hysterically at me falling, I was laying on my side, too frightened to move, because I knew I’d done something to my knee.  All I could think was I just don’t need this shit now.  Not now. Please don’t do this to me…

However, the universe did not hear my silent prayers, and fucked me over it did.

‘What’s the matter?’ Charlie said, suddenly appearing beside me, all humour gone.

‘I think I’ve done something to my knee…’ I started crying, still to frightened to move.

‘Try to get up.  You may be able to walk it off?’ he suggested.  I pushed myself up, and in doing so, put pressure on my knee, which resulted in cries of pain and more tears.

Now, I have a very high tolerance level for pain, as you know.  This fucker was bad.

‘I’ll try to pull you up.’ He suggested.  Fucken good luck with that, I thought.  Have you seen how heavy I am?  You ain’t that strong…

I gripped his arm, but as soon as he lifted me, and there was pressure on my knee, I just screamed in pain, and he sat me down again.  What am I going to do?  How am I going to get up?  OMG!  They’re going to have to get a crane in to lift me off the floor!

I looked around to see what I could pull myself up on, and everything I saw (chairs, bench, table) all required me to push on my two legs… and I couldn’t…

Then I got an idea.  I dragged myself so elegantly (picture an elephant seal flapping toward the water) across the kitchen floor to the steps at the split level.  I swung my legs (insert lots of crying) over the steps and rested my feet on the floor below.

Charlie easily pulled me to my feet.

Ten minutes later, he’s out the door to golf (important tournament, and nothing more he could do) and I was sitting on the couch with an ice pack on my knee wondering if I should go to the hospital.

Bendigo Hospital has a physio department in the ER.  They’ll tell me what I’ve done… what if I’ve fucked my knee up?  What if I have to have a reconstruction or something? What if I have to do rehab? What if I have to miss work?  Or my markets? Or fucken Christmas? AAAAHHHHH!!!!

Maybe I just need to calm the fuck down, and Jade and I can continue on to the family picnic.  The basket was in the car, I just had to get myself into it.

I could walk on my knee.  I just couldn’t bend it, so I hobbled out to the car, and through lots of screaming and tears, I got myself behind the wheel.

‘You can’t go like this Lee… you need to go to hospital or something…’ Jade pleaded, and I started crying.

‘I want to go to the picnic!  People will think this is an excuse for me not to come… I want to go…’ I cried harder now.  Too worried about what people will think.

‘You can’t, Lee.  You just can’t.’ I looked into Jade’s face, and she looked so sad, and I felt so guilty.  I just didn’t know what to do.

‘We’ll give it a trial run.’ I suddenly got an idea. ‘I have to take the egg order down to the pub.  I’ll see how I handle that.  If I handle it okay, we’re outta here.’

‘And if not?’ Jade asked nervously.

‘Then I’m off to the hospital.’

Twenty minutes later, I had dropped Jade back at home (no point making her wait for hours in an ER when she could be at home studying for her exams – yeah right), called my cousin and told her I wouldn’t be going to the picnic, and I was on my way to Bendigo ER.

Fifty minutes later, I hobbled into ER and sat down next to a dude that had impaled himself on a star picket.

‘How the fuck did you manage that?’ I asked, trying to distract him a little, cos he said he felt like fainting.

‘I jumped a fence, and mis-timed it.  My calf got caught on the picket, and down I went.’

‘Shit mate…’

‘Wasn’t the brightest thing I’ve ever done.’ He smiled weakly.  You’re not alone with that one today.  However, at least you know how you fucked yourself up.  I can’t even remember how I ended up on the floor.  ‘What happened to you?’

‘I fell over in the kitchen… though to be honest, I don’t really remember falling.  My husband and daughter said I slipped on the tiles, but I can’t really remember, it happened so quick…’ fuck… I sound like an abuse victim.

An hour later (yep: only an hour!) I was hobbling to the back stalls of the ER, where the physio department was.

The nurse asked me to take a seat (ironic, since I can’t bend my fucken leg) and the physio would be with me shortly.  At least I could lay back and close my eyes for a minute.

And literally only a minute, because Scott the lovely physio was at my side nearly straight away.  ‘So, had a fall in the kitchen, Lee?’

‘Yep.’  I’m so proud.

‘So, what have you done?’  he asked, and I prattled about my stupid fucken knee.  He examined my leg, and poked and prodded away (insert sooking). ‘Well, I could do a few tests, but it would involve bending your leg, which will be quite painful.’

‘I can handle the pain if you can handle the screaming…’ I suggested.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Let’s do it.’ I said, and gritted my teeth.  Not too many tears later, young Scotty determined that the integrity of the knee was good, and I had just pulled the quad muscle above the knee.

Thank fuck.

‘Ice that baby for twenty minutes every two hours, for the next twenty four hours.  Ice it whenever you can.  You should be able to do a basic quad stretch by the end of the week.  If not, you need to get further treatment.  You can go and see your local GP?’

‘Can I cut out the middle-man and go straight to my osteo?’

‘If you have one, do it.  Get it treated.  You will be out of action for about two to three weeks.  No gym.  No tennis.  No nothing.  Take. It. Easy.’

Fuck.  I don’t know what’s worse.  The pain and inconvenience, or having to slow down.  I don’t have time for this shit!  Fucken body!

For the rest of the afternoon and evening, I changed over ice packs and sat on my fat arse sooking in front of the telly.  What a way to spoil a great weekend.

When I hobbled off to bed, Charlie had to lift my fucken useless leg into the bed for me.  What the fuck am I going to do if I need the toilet through the night?  Wake Charlie up?  No…. I’ll just pee in the bed. 

As I lay there, staring at the ceiling, and cursing the universe for this massive inconvenience, I realised that I had to go to the dentist tomorrow.  Holy crap.  I just want to stay home!

Oh no! I’ve got work on Tuesday!  Not that work is a problem, but the two flights of stairs that I run up and down fifty million times a day are!  How am I going to manage that?

Gaaaaa…. It’s going to be a long three weeks.

Peace out.

MOVEMBER

November 2012 will be forever known as ‘the month Lee didn’t have sex’.

December 1 2012 will be known as the day I shaved the soup strainer off my husbands face and sexually mauled him. 

December 2 2012 will be the day that my husband is physically unable to get up out of bed.  Bastard.

Yes my friends: Charlie is participating in Movember.

For those of you living under a rock, Movember is a fundraising drive that requires men to grow a moustache during the month of November, and collect sponsorship from people in doing so.  All funds raised are donated toward the Movember foundation, and go to various men’s mental health organisations.  A very worthy cause.

And how did Charlie-Albert get involved?

Well, it started as a bit of a joke when we were at Iris’ house one night. 

I think it was actually the 1^st of November, and we were watching a segment on The Project discussing the origins and popularity of the Movember fundraising cause.

What started as a joke in a pub in Australia somewhere, has become a world-wide phenomenon, with millions and millions of dollars being raised across the globe for men’s health.

Mum, Jade and I were discussing the lack of appeal a mo had to us, when Charlie piped up and said ‘I think I would like to do that.’

We all stopped speaking instantly, and gaped at him.  ‘You want to participate in Movember?’ I asked incredulously.

‘Yeah!’ he smiled.  ‘I could do that.  It’s just a fucken mo… and only for a month….’

‘Well… I could help you… I can load up a mospace for you on the Movember website, and people can donate through that babe.  You won’t have to do anything but grow a fucken soup strainer on your face.’

Jade found that hilarious. 

‘Plus, an added bonus for you.’

‘What’s that?’ he smirked.

‘I find mo’s revolting.  I won’t be coming near you in any way, shape or form as long as you have that thing on your face.’  Mo’s disgust me.  I find them so unattractive and dirty: I cannot stand them.  *shivers in disgust*

‘Holy crap!’ Charlie cries, causing Jade to jump.  ‘If you had told me that before, I would have grown one of these things years ago!’

Mum finds that hysterical, of course, because the sun shines out of Charlie’s arse, and anything he says is hilarious.  *rolls eyes.  He cops a swift punch in the arm from me (which is like punching a brick wall, by the way).

‘A whole month of peace from you…’ Charlie muses, leaning back in the chair and linking his hands behind his head.  ‘A whole month…’

‘Go fuck yourself.’

So, when I got home that night, I started up his mo space, uploaded a photo, and posted the link on my Facebook page.  Within about 10 minutes, my gorgeous friend Jane had donated and we were off and running.

Over the past two weeks, I’ve been thanking God that I’ve finished reading the Fifty Shades trilogy, because if I was still reading it, I’d be as antsy as an apprentice who’d been dragged to the brothel by his work mates to celebrate his 18^th birthday, only to be told that the brothel’s closed.

That’s how I feel at the moment. 

That mo is revolting.  It’s contraception. 

Everyone praises the fellas that grow this face fuzz, but what about the women that have to put up with them? What about the ladies that are so repulsed by this sudden facial adornment, that they’ve had to become celibate or dust off their trusty old vibrators for the month?  What about the sacrifice we’re making?  Where’s my ‘dry clacka space’ alongside my husbands ‘mospace’ I ask you?

*shakes head*

It’s all for a good cause though.  So far, he’s raised $75.00, and I can see that he’s really proud of this.  As well he should be.  He’s never done anything like this before, so it’s a first for him.

And he’s copped a bit of shit for it, too.  Some of his workmates, golf mates and gym buddies are like ‘what’s with the face fuzz?’ and he’s like ‘It’s for Movember.  Get online and sponsor me!’

Good on him. 

I’m very proud. 

And toey.

And also looking forward to the 1^st of December.  Sex and maul day.  Yeah.

http://au.movember.com/mospace/4520769

Hairy peace out.

STUPID COWS

So, the time has come, according to Charlie.

Time to sell off our main breeder-cows that we’ve had for seven years now, and my heart is breaking.

Charlie had planned to sell the cows in calf, with a calf, which yields us more money.  It’s like a three for one deal.  However, after speaking to the agent, now’s the time to sell them; a cow with a calf.

I’ve always known this day was coming, but it doesn’t make it any easier.  You try no to get attached to things, but you do.

Charlie told Jade and I we could get attached to the cows, because we would be keeping them for a few years to breed from, and he would never send them to butcher.  He’s been true to his word.

We only named two of them.  One was called Fozzy, because her ears were so fluffy, that she looked like Fozzy Bear from the Muppet Show.  The other one was called Charlie Girl, because she learnt very quickly, that Charlie was the food source.  He had the bucket of nice, crunchy oats.  He had the bales of hay.  He was the man, and every time she saw him, whether he had food or not, she would moo her tits off and come screaming across the paddock toward him, hoping he had food.  Lunatic.

They were very intelligent animals, with an incredibly gentle nature, which surprised me.  Being a dumbarse city-slicker, I had never really had anything to do with cows before we bought some.

However, I will never forget the day they arrived, and stood in our front paddock, chewing on the lush grass, happy and content.  Never did I know the lessons these beautiful beasts would teach me.

A lot of people say that cows are stupid; well, they’re not the brightest globes in the box, but they are far from stupid.

Many a time I’ve come home and seen the ‘creche’ in operation.  A couple of cows would be chilling with a heap of the calves, looking after them whilst the mothers were scattered across the paddock, having a break.  The crèche.

They were so habitual, that Charlie could wander into the front 40 acre paddock, walk behind them all and herd them up on his own.  He would just wave his arms shouting ‘c’mon!’, and they would be like ‘oh… ok…. We’re moving paddocks again… let’s go,’ and start gently mooing to each other, or calling in their calves, and make their way along the fence, through the gate, across the driveway, and into the other paddock.  Clockwork.

I remember one day, going for my nightly walk during daylight savings that a few of the calves were running around one of the bigger cows, and it looked odd to me.  I stood there and watched, and realised with delight that they were actually playing. 

The crèche was in operation, and one of the cows would stand there, pretending not to look at the calves.  The babies would gather together, sneak up behind her, and when they got close, she would whip around (as fast as a half-a-ton beast could) and chase them.  The calves would scatter in all directions, mooing with delight!  She would catch one of them, give them a nudge under the arse with her nose, and send them sprawling.  They just seemed to laugh, pick themselves up, and do it all again.

I stood there for about fifteen minutes watching the spectacle.  I couldn’t believe it.

There was a time when Charlie, Jade and I were in the ute, heading out for the evening, and the babies were close to the driveway fence.  We stopped, Jade and I wound down the windows, and cooed at the calves, who just stared at us like ‘what the fuck is that?’

As we drove off, the calves started running along the fence line beside the ute.  As we got faster, so did they, and pretty soon, there were ten calves running full knacker along with the car.

The funny thing though, was the ten mother-cows running along after them, screaming their heads off at them (we were sure they were telling their babies to slow the fuck down and stop being fucken stupid), all the while their full udders bouncing and spraying milk everywhere!  All over themselves and the cows around them.

Hilarious.

They were far from stupid cows.  Far from it.  Beautiful, gentle beasts that over time, we could feed slices of bread by hand.  That over time, you could stand in amongst them, and they’d rub up against you.  That over time, you could actually pat them.

Now they’re gone, and the remaining six cows and four calves are mooing for their family.  Even the bull looks depressed. All of a sudden, the oldies that have been a part of this farm for years have gone, and the babies that are still here, are missing their mamas.

When I woke this morning, I could hear the mournful, sad cry of one cow in our paddock, who Charlie said had been crying all night.  Charlie went to down check on them, and they were okay.  Just said.

Like me, who crys that the thought of our remaining cows being sad because they miss the mamas too.

Stupid cows.

They were shipped off last night, when I was thankfully at my mother’s.  Good timing on Charlie’s part, even though the sales are today and they had to go last night anyway.

If I had been there to witness it, I would have been a hysterical mess, like I am now.

I was sitting at Mum’s, watching Jamie Oliver’s 15 Minute Meals (love that show), and trying not to think about my babies being loaded onto a truck…scared and confused… wondering where they were going…. Wondering why they’re leaving their home…. When I got a text from Charlie.

‘Charlie Girl was the last on the truck.’ With a little emoticon of a broken heart.

That was all it said.  Charlie Girl was his favourite.

I lost the plot and started bawling, and haven’t really stopped yet.  How the fuck am I supposed to work today?  I’m such a sooky dick!  It’s a fucken cow for fucks sake!

Charlie’s going to the sales today to watch; see what his babies get at market, and talk to the stock agent about buying some new heifers next year.

And so the cycle goes around again.  The wheel of life, isn’t it?  It just keeps spinning.

I hope wherever they end up, that they are as loved as they were here.  I don’t want to think that they’ll be knocked on the head or sold off again quickly.  I hope they live happily ever after on a good farm with lots of nice, lush feed.

Stupid cows.

Peace out.

A LITTLE SCARE

As I’m heading home the other night, driving through Pyalong in the rain, my phone rings through the stereo.

‘Hi Babe,’ I answer happily.

‘Hey darl,’ Charlie’s voice fills the car.  ‘Where are you?’

‘Coming through The Long babe, why?’

‘We had a knock at the door.’  He says quietly.

Now, this may not sound like anything exciting to you, but when you’re seven clicks out of town in bushland, and half a click from the road, random people knocking on the door is a rarity.  We don’t have door-to-door salesmen up here; no charity collectors.  Nothing. 

Anyone that knocks on our front door, knocks on it for a purpose.

‘Who was it?’

‘The police.’

‘What?’

‘The coppers were here.’

‘What did they want?  Did they want to inspect your guns?’

‘No… no…’

‘What is it?’

‘Well… I was playing the computer, cos it was raining and I couldn’t do anything outside… and I heard a car door close.  I just thought it was you…’

‘Yeah…’

‘Then Jade called out, and said there was someone at the door.  So… I went to see who it was, and she was standing there with two big coppers.’

‘Oh!  What did they want?’

‘Well, I asked them…. are you here to give me a black letter?’  Oh no. ‘And they said no… no…. we’re looking for a certain house, and we don’t know if we have the right one…’

‘Oh… ok.  Who were they looking for?’

‘Fucked if I know… it took me a moment to recover… Jade answered most of the questions for them…’

‘Jade?  Why?  What the fuck were you doing?’

‘I…. um…. I was in… shock, I think….’

‘Why?’  What the fuck?

‘I was expecting you home…. It was raining… the coppers were on the doorstep….’

‘Oh… Charlie-Albert….’ Poor darling… he thought something had happened to me.  Nnnaaaww….

‘I thought something had happened to you….’  Nnnaaawww….

‘Oh poppit…. I’m okay.  I’m here…’

‘I know.  That’s why I rang…’

‘To make sure I was okay?’

‘Yeah.’

Oh the poor darling must have had a minor heart attack.  Two coppers knocking on our door… he must have instantly thought the worst.  I would have been the same, I think.  If Charlie hadn’t been home, and they turned up, I would have been semi hysterical before they said a word.

Poor darling had a scare, and now he’s ringing me to make sure I’m okay.  Bless.

When I got home, I parked the car, grabbed all of my shit, and stumbled to the back door.  As I reached for the handle, the door swung inward, and Charlie was standing there looking a few years older than he did when I last saw him this morning.

‘Are you all right mate?’ I asked.

‘Yeah…. I’m okay…’ he stepped forward, gave me a kiss and big hug, and prattled on for five minutes about the coppers.  Five minutes, and I still hadn’t crossed the threshold.

‘It’s all right.  Nothing’s happened.’ I smiled.  ‘Plus, if it was a black letter, remember that I have life insurance for five hundred grand if I die of an accident.’

‘I know.  I wasn’t really upset about you dying.  Just wondering how quickly I could get my money and buy a little fi-fi wife from overseas for myself.’

I shove past him.  ‘Go fuck yourself.’  Clearly over his shock.

He stumbles along behind me as I make my way toward the kitchen, prattling on about how taken the police were with our garden.   ‘I’ve also taken snags out of the freezer for tea.  I thought I would cook you tea.’

I stop in my tracks, and slowly turn to look at him.  ‘What did you say?’

‘Um… I thought I would cook you tea… you’ve been at work all day and I’ve been home…’

‘Really?’ that’s the reason you’re cooking me tea?  Nothing to do with the fact you thought I was fucken dead?

‘Yeah.  I was going to do some steamed veggies and an egg with them.  How does that sound?’

‘Awesome.’ 

WHO'S THE BOOB NOW?

Over recent years, as I’ve lost a little weight, I’ve become increasingly self-conscious about my boobs.

Having had a partial mastectomy, my poor lefty is considerably smaller than my righty.  As such, I wear a partial prosthetic so I don’t look like a total freak.  It call it my ‘plastic fantastic’.

However, sometimes I forget to put the plastic fantastic in.  Actually, more often than not, I choose not to wear it, because it’s heavy, hot and shits me.

Such is the case last week, when I went to work.  I was kicking myself, because the dress I was wearing is the type that makes the difference in my girls obvious, and I should have known better than to leave my fake boob at home.

So picture this: I’m at Sunshine Plaza (yep: fucken place I just love), and I’ve done the banking, and am standing at the Donut King stand, waiting to buy a six pack of jam doeys for the boys at work.  (Yes, I had one.  About a zillion calories, I know).

As I finished being served, and turned to leave, these two teenage girls come up to me.  You know the type: dressed in a school dress that’s way too short, with long, black teased out hair, makeup applied with a trowel, eyes so black I’m wondering if they used the entire liner pencil and tube of mascara in one go, mobiles in hand and chewing on gum like a cow chews on cud. 

I have cows.  I’ve seen them chew cud.  Teenagers slappers = cud chewin’ cows.

Anyway, I’m standing there thinking ‘wtf?’ and these girls are clearly trying not to laugh, and glance over their shoulders a couple of times.  Their friends are standing not far away.

Great.  What the fuck’s going on here?  I brace myself.

‘So, um….’ Slappa number one says.  ‘We just thought we ought to tell you…’

‘Us being girls and all…’ the second one says, indicating all three of us.

‘Do you realise that one of your boobs is way bigger than the other?’ said number one.

My heart literally stops.  What. The. Fuck.

Not only am I horrifically embarrassed, but I instantly wonder the best way to handle this situation.  It doesn’t take but a second to acknowledge that these girls are just c**ts, and they’re picking on the ‘fat chick’.  My course of action is decided in a heartbeat.

‘You don’t say…’

‘Yes.’ Number two tries not to laugh, and a couple of other Donut King customers turn around to look at us.  ‘We thought we should tell you…’

‘What makes you think I don’t already know?’

They just look at each other, and suffocate their smiles.  I glanced over their shoulders at their friends, who were smiling broadly.  Clearly, a dare had been made here.

Mmmm…. You picked the wrong bunny, honey.

‘Do you know why they’re like that?’ I ask calmly, raising my voice just a little.  ‘Because there is a reason for it.’ That’s when I see it.  That flicker of fear in their eyes.  Only a flicker, but enough for me to see that they’re doubting their recent course of action.

I take a step closer.  ‘They are a different size, because I’ve had a partial mastectomy.’ I explain, raising my voice a little more, and more people turn around to look.  ‘Do you have the intelligence between you to know that a mastectomy is?’

They don’t answer, as the smiles slide from their faces.  The glance over at their friends, whose smiles are also wavering.

‘No?  Well let me explain.’ I smile.  ‘A mastectomy is something you have done when you have BREAST CANCER.’ I explain like I’m speaking to a pair of fuckwits, which I am.  I step toward them as they take a step back.  ‘Breast cancer.  That’s what I’ve had, and this body is the result of it.’

The girls now exchange panicked looks and blush pinker than the Donut King bag in my hand.

‘But I thank you.’ I smile warmly.  ‘I thank you for reminding me about the part of my life I try to forget.  Thank you for bringing up all of the pain and shit that I’ve tried so hard to move past.  Thank you for being a pair of dumbarse, judgemental molls that have nothing better to do that pick on someone they don’t even know.’

The girls exchange an ‘oh fuck’ look as my voice jumps up an octave (or ten).  Most people in the vicinity are look at us now, and their little group of friends is simply looking on in horror.  Dare = fail.

‘Are you happy?  Do you feel better about yourselves now you’ve picked on me?  What kind of person does that?  What does that say about you?  How pathetic are you to get your thrills out of picking on a complete stranger?’

‘I’m s-s-sorry…’ number one mutters.

‘So you fucken should be!’ I bark.  ‘You should be fucken ashamed of yourselves! Is your ego that fragile?  Is your self-esteem that low that you have to better yourself this way?’

‘We said we’re sorry…’ number two mutters with a bit of ‘tude.

‘No you fucken didn’t!’ I bark again, and they jump.  ‘Your about as sorry as I am.  How fucken dare you say that to me.  My body may not be perfect, but it has a history.  You’re just a pair of insecure slappers playing a game of popularity with your useless fucken friends over there, and you failed.’

‘Here here.’ a woman’s voice comes from behind me.  The girls look panicked.

‘What kind of people are you?’ I say quietly, as I push past them, and head for the entrance, but not before one last parting shot.

‘Take comfort in the fact that you have really hurt me.  That’s what you wanted to achieve, wasn’t it?’ I pause. ‘A cheap thrill at the expense of some loser fat-chick? I hope you’re fucken happy with yourselves.’ They just stand there; stunned, embarrassed and hopefully; ashamed.  I shoot a harsh look at their friends, who instantly look everywhere except at me, and turn and leave.

As I climb into the car, I reach for my mobile, and Charlie’s voice comes over the car stereo system as my tears fall.

‘They’ just a pack of sluts, darl.  Don’t let them worry you.’

‘It still hurts though, Charlie…’ and I think of how judgemental I can be toward people, and ask myself; would I do that?  Would I go straight up to someone and make fun of their imperfections to their face? 

I recall when Jade was little, and she would see someone in a wheelchair, or someone mentally disabled walking/wheeling along the street, she would look at me with fear in her eyes, because she didn’t understand what was going on.  I would patiently say to her ‘it’s not their fault that they’re different.  They can’t help it.  Don’t judge them on what you can see, because inside is someone that’s a fighter.’

I’d be the first to smirk at a dude in black and green check shorts with multi-coloured hair and a billion piercings ordering a donut from Donut King, but I would never discriminate or ‘bully’ him.  As ridiculous as he looks to me, at least he has the balls to be himself. 

The chubby slappas that wear fluro dresses that are too tight or too short; the old tarts with missing teeth that love my bolero jacket: they’re all people with stories.  Just like me.

However, these girls were viscous.  They were bullies.  I wonder what their thought process was before they approached me?  I wonder, at what point, they decided that saying that to me would be funny?  I wonder, at what point, they justified their actions.

I wonder if they think of it now?  I wonder if they feel shame?  I wonder if they’ll change.

I doubt it.

Peace out.