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Monthly Archives: July 2012

Sally’s take on What Women Want. Come on, you watched the film and it didn’t tell you squat – now read the blog post and LEARN!

Sex, Politics and Hotmail – Chapter Six: Olivia’s Brilliant Career

A Tale of Two Women and their Push Up Bras

In a country not that far away, at a time not very long ago, a nerd with time on her hands hacked into the email accounts of two well-known women. She passed the shocking results on to a friend..who passed them on to a friend…who published them on this blog.  Can you guess who these women are?

THE STORY SO FAR….(Chapters One to Five)

Divorced and dateless Rose is now sitting around in her pjs watching dvds on a Saturday night, while her old friend Olivia insists HER marriage is absolutely spiffing.  But Olivia is starting to feel there must be more to life than ladies who lunch.

Olivia’s brilliant career

You know, I’ve been thinking about something you said. It’s funny your mentioning that Manifesto of ours, because it gave me an idea.

What do you think about me becoming involved in politics again?  Of course it’s been such a long time since I did anything of that sort – well, not since I left the University Liberals in the 70s really!  I’m seriously thinking about it.  Needless to say I shan’t be joining the Socialist Front, as I think you know.

Sure why not! I thought about joining up with the local branch of the labour party but it’s all school teachers and guys with woolly beards and no sense of humour so there’s no point really is there, I mean I’m not that desperate.

Oh I don’t know.  You never were in it for the principles, were you.  As opposed to the principals.  Lol, as Victoria would say.

Actually I’ve been very active on the board of the school P&C ever since Victoria was five – you know, fetes and uniform policy and cookie drives and so on –  but I can’t help feeling my talents are wasted, trying to stem the king tide of thirteen year old girls trying to look like Britney Spears.  Does that sound immodest?

So many of the other parents have been telling me I should go forth and be a force for good in the world – and that the P&C is just too small a field for my organizational gifts.  Steve says that is because they are fed up being pestered by me about the library fund  –  but I’m sure he’s just being spiteful.

You go for it girl!  I think you are MADE for politics! Hey remember you wearing that Property is Theft sticker on your schoolbag – god the nuns used to hate that – and that time you made us all do a sit-in in front of the headmaster’s office cause they banned you from selling the Social Activist Monthly in front of the school gates to the kids waiting for the bus.  Not that you sold a lot, right!  Didn’t we have to spend our own pocket money buying the bloody things to make it look like you did ok back at headquarters?

What’s Steve think about it? You two would make a great political couple.  I can just see it now, you’re Leader of the Free World and Steve’s like, First Gentleman? Ok I know you’re starting off at the arse end of the world over there but you gotta have dreams.

Steve likes the idea. He says it’s about time I did something that mattered.  Besides, he says, my talents are wasted on nagging!  Irritating man!

I do think it’s time I did something other than Marriage, Motherhood and Home Decorating.  Do you remember what excellent grades I used to get in high school?  And how you used to say life wasn’t about grades, it was about having experiences – of course you meant sex.  And Mother used to say, “Never mind being such a swot Olivia, why don’t you wear your skirt a little higher, you’ll never attract a man at this rate.”  One comes to a different perspective in one’s forties, don’t you think?

Did I say that? That was probably cause I was jealous of you – I never did manage to get good grades (except in sex 101).  You know what I reckon I’m kind of jealous of you now.  How come you get to be married to a millionaire and all I get is the shitty career (ha!)?  I’m the one who’s supposed to have a fucking postgraduate degree in men!

Jealous of ME! Darling, don’t be.  I know I said I’m very happy with Steve – and of course I AM – but sometimes I think, what have I really achieved? I’m someone’s WIFE.  Wonderful, let’s hear the applause!

Wanna swap?

Frankly, no.  But you know, I feel a CHANGE is coming on.

(Not that kind of change, darling)

Rose’s Ranch


Me and Darla, the Gypsy Temptress of Oh I Do Blather on a bit don’t I fame, have hatched an ingenious plan. We”re going to create the rules and regulations for our own little paradise – a women’s community, where men (and women, sorry Darla, because not ALL women are as nice as you) are only admitted by invitation and at our behest.

Yes, it’s a wee bit sexist…but at least WE’LL get a laugh out of it!  Plus, we are currently trying to think of a suitable title for an award that we can palm off on other women bloggers we want to invite to paradise.  Yes, YOU TOO can come to Harlot’s Heaven, Goddess Gate, The Land of Ladies, or perhaps the Royal Women’s Institute for the Training and Correction of the Other Lot…and make up your own Rules, if you want to!  You can even bring your husband, as long as you keep him on a lead and pick up his little accidents (ok I said it was sexist, alright?).

Darla’s Version of Feminine Fantasia will be along shortly but here’s mine – just to prod her along! I dunno, she seems to spend so much time LIVING that she forgets about BLOGGING! Honestly!

So here goes!!!!

Out the back at Rose’s Ranch


  • Like men in the bedroom but not in the boardroom?
  • Ever wished you could have a full set of tools for every emergency, instead of having to choose between a screwdriver and an allen key?
  • Ever wanted to live in a society where YOU call the shots and he does the dishes?
  • Ever wondered how much better life could be if only THEY did what they were told!

Welcome to Rose’s Fantasy Ranch, where men are men and there’s plenty to go around.  And the best thing about it is, if MY fantasy’s not YOUR fantasy, that’s just fine – this place caters to EVERYBODY’s dreams.  Register yours now (dream that is) and take that first step towards the fulfilment of all your secret sexist longings!

On Rose’s Ranch:

  • There are at least three men for every woman.  Those who don’t want that many can donate to other women who want more. Personally, I think five’s a good number.
  • Variety is the key.  We have the traditional beefcake, but we also have witty conversationalists, big brains, those happy sort of guys whose smile just cheers you up straight away, men who are just the dreamiest dancers, and men who fix stuff.  Oh yeah, and FOREIGN men, with accents.  Sorry, I just have a thing for them.
  • You have to be forty or over to get in. Sorry girls, you’ve got enough on your hands already.
  • Women sit at the head of the table. Men are allowed to throw their weight around only if it turns their partner on.
  • The first Sunday of every month is Swap Meet.  Nothing sleazy.  One woman’s trash may be another woman’s treasure, you never know!
    All the men are on the male contraceptive pill, which will be especially invented for the grand opening of the Ranch.  The ranch is STD free, so the only reason to involve condoms is if they’re studded, ribbed or light up in the dark.
  • At night, all public areas will be lit by either candelight or that soft pink light that makes you look about twenty years younger.
    There are no gyms on Rose’s ranch.  There is a lovely swimming spot though with a sandy beach.  Nude bathing is just fine.  So are those swimsuits that come down over your knees. Whatever.
  • If you fall in love and want to stay with a guy forever, he has to pass an extensive examination by a jury of your peers on his suitability for a serious relationship.  They will examine important things like whether he ever cooks you dinner, how much time he spends whingeing, and whether he’s ever looked up another woman’s skirt.  If the jury blackballs him, you can still keep him, but he has to wear a red bowtie, which will make him look just a little bit stupid.

ps We like men really.

Do I REALLY want to have sex with a 22 year old?

Frankly, no.

On a dating site I recently joined, a 22 year old guy emailed me to see if I’d like to get to know him better.  It was a very odd email, I’d have to say.

I stumbled upon your profile by sheer happenstance and admittedly I am quite intrigued, which is why I wish to express a desire to become better acquainted with thee, shall you permit?

Granted, there exists a disparity in age although I assure you that I am quite ‘mature’ for my 22 years.

I have recently joined this service, I have yet to complete my profile albeit I would describe myself as a debonair gentleman who endeavours to appropriate all actions to the utmost decorum; have you any questions, please do not hesitate to ask.

I thanked him for his decorum, and said he was far too young.

Too young for WHAT? he asked.

Too young for…for…

Sex, actually.  I’m 49 and I may look kind of 42ish but I’m still not on for sex with 22 year olds. For one thing, when you’re lying naked together on those purple satin sheets, HIS stomach is all flat and full of muscles I can’t even name, and mine is kind of, not.  HIS skin is bursting with youth and smooth young tumescence.  My skin is just hanging around watching.  It makes me feel old.  I know.  I’ve tried it.

And then there’s the question of HAIR.   For instance, one Mr X.  He was a buff young thing, not completely boring, handsome in a sort of Neighboursey way, and I was experimenting.  We did the deed.  Afterwards, he texted me to say that at first he was shocked to find that I actually had hair down there…and THEN he wanked off to the thought.  So at least I’ve taught the younger generation something of value, huh!

Then there was the six months I spent having intermittent romantic/dirty weekends with a 32 year old, when I was just 44.  He was sweet, clever, kind and gorgeous in certain lights, when you got used to him.  One day we went to David Jones to look at Man Perfumes, as we were in the process of exchanging gifts.  Anyway we sprayed various intoxicating substances onto little bits of white paper and sniffed and laughed and got all confused, and eventually ended up at the counter with a bottle of Brut or something.

Oh no, says the saleslady, you don’t want to buy THAT.  That’s for older men!  A YOUNG man like you should wear..’ and she pulls out whatever a YOUNG man should wear, all the while looking sidewise at me as if to say ‘You should know better than to buy your little toyboy Brut, honey!’

I realised even then I wasn’t cut out to be a sugar mummy.  But evidently young men THINK that if you’re a woman of a certain age, you’re going to be hanging out for some lusty young bull.  I REALLY prefer 40 year olds, I really, really do.

Sex, Politics and Hotmail, Chapter Five

A Tale of Two Women and their Push Up Bras

In a country not that far away, at a time not very long ago, a nerd with time on her hands hacked into the email accounts of two well-known women. She passed the shocking results on to a friend..who passed them on to a friend…who published them on this blog.  Can you guess who these women are?

THE STORY SO FAR….(Chapters One to Four)

Rose is newly single and life couldn’t be better. Really.  Meanwhile, Olivia’s marriage is as solid solid as…something that’s really really solid.  Everything is just peachy in the land of Rose and Oliviah…except for little Vicky.

Absolutely Peachy!

Did you know, Rosie, apparently there’s a worldwide shortage of single men.  Except in China.  Steve says you might want to get yourself an absorbing hobby.  Apparently you’re more likely to get kidnapped by terrorists!

Don’t take it to heart though.  I expect there are some very eligible terrorists out there.


Yeah well don’t think I didn’t think about that before I jumped.  You can’t go into a newsagent without tripping over some crap about how scary it is to be single and female and over forty these days.  Plus there must be fucking hundreds of manuals about how to pull.  But you know Liv sometimes it’s better to have no man than one you can’t stand much – anyway, even if I don’t get any sex for the rest of my life, it’ll be more than I had with John in the last three years.  Well, almost.

But aren’t you lonely now you’re single again? I expect that’s what keeps most married couples together for so long – so what if you come home every day to a pain in the bottom, at least he’s a pain in YOUR bottom, and it’s better than talking to the fridge door.  Though I sometimes wonder.

Who me – lonely? Like I told you, I’ve had it with men. If I never see another hairy ball sack in my life I’ll die happy.  Men. Who needs em!

Really? Oh come on!

Ok yeah sure I do feel a bit lonely sometimes.  My mum – you remember mum, well she’s just the same, only wrinklier and crankier – anyway she keeps saying “All alone on a Saturday night?” when I go round there so I don’t, much.  But it’s not like there’s anywhere else to go.  So I sit home and watch dvds and tell myself isn’t it great I can watch whatever I fucking like with nothing on except a singlet and men’s pyjama pants, eating chips and choccies. Ok, sometimes it’s not that great.

I’m not sorry I left John all the same but.

It’s a blessing you and John never had any children – although of course I shouldn’t really be saying that.  Only I know you never wanted any, so it’s alright, isn’t it? Divorce is so hard on children, all the studies say so.  Although Victoria says Steve and I should think about separating because it is embarrassing being the only one in her class who doesn’t come from a broken home.

Who me, want kids? Guess you didn’t know, John and me have been trying for years. IVF, the works.

Oh I’m terribly sorry, I should never have said that. I am so sorry, I had no idea!

Just kidding. Ha ha!

Yeah, it’s just as well.  Actually I did see some show on tv with all these children of divorced parents saying how fucked up they all were and how they wished their parents had stayed together and thought of THEM for a change.  I say get a life.  What’s with kids these days, they expect their parents to do all the housework, get pay tv so they can watch the Disney channel, pay their I-phone bills and then they want you to sacrifice your whole romantic life to motherhood as well!  Divorce is just a natural part of life, get used to it. Like having your mum yell at you in the mall and pick you up from school in her ugg boots.  We survived didn’t we?

Come to think of it though isn’t it fantastic that you and Steve stayed together all these years.  Didn’t I say, if you lasted out all those fights about controlled crying you’d be alright, you know.

Well, yes. Absolutely. We’re as solid as, well, I don’t know, government bonds or something.

Although it’s not so easy, with Victoria.  Sometimes I wish we could just turn her into that awful toddler again.  At least we usually knew where she was!

What? She’s not one of those kids the cops pick up at 2am trying to get into some sleazy nightclub, is she? Not little Vickie?

No, well, not quite that bad, YET.  But I can’t say Victoria has turned out quite as we would have hoped.  I can’t recall if I mentioned it but, since her figure developed, she has acquired this awful boyfriend called Julian, who seems to just about live here.  They are in eternal love, apparently.  Last week he carved her initials in his arm – I don’t suppose his mother gives him pocket money to afford a REAL tattoo.  Victoria thought it was dreadfully romantic and was thinking of doing the same, but I told her she would probably just end up looking like ‘Emo’ cousin Julia after her cutting episodes and she said she would wait till she had saved enough for a proper professional tattooist and then have Julian’s portrait inscribed on both her buttocks.

The two of them spend all their spare time locked in her bedroom whispering and sniggering and god knows what else!  I told Victoria she has to leave the door open – and just in case. I said if I caught them French kissing Julian would have to go straight home to his mother. Yes that’s right, single parent family!  No wonder he doesn’t wash his hair and writes poetry!

There you go again, slagging off the working class.

So she DOES know about the birds and the bees right? Mind you when my mother told me about that I couldn’t work out why there weren’t any little bee-birds around, if they were having cross-species sex all the time. Catholic education!

I have tried to open the subject, but she says “Mu-um, don’t be totally gross, we don’t do stuff like that, we’re just making out, that’s all!”  Making out – what’s that when it’s at home!

She says the ‘life education’ classes at school turned her completely off anything of that nature, particularly the close up film footage of genitals and nasty rashes.  I never thought I would agree that explicit sex education in our schools was a good thing – until now, when I can see that it has had quite a salutary effect.

Thank christ for life education classes!  We didn’t even know how many holes we had, when we were that age.  Or at least, you didn’t, I had to tell you, remember – and you didn’t believe me and then your mum caught you trying to check it out and said you were a dirty little slut and made you sterilize the hand mirror with Dettol?

Don’t over react mate. She’s probably not doing what you think she’s doing.   Probably they just whinge to each other about how hard it is to be a teenager these days and how parents aren’t what they used to be.  But maybe just in case you should tell that Julian if Vickie gets preggers or anything Steve will make him marry her straight off.  Tell him about your rellies in Lebanon.

It’s worse than you think.  Since I forbade them to shut the door, I’ve discovered she is climbing out her window at night to go and canoodle with him outside the local supermarket – so Westside Story! And the things she wears! Tiny little mini-skirts that barely cover her underwear, and tops that look like brassieres!  If she’s hoping to look like a prostitute all I can say is she’s succeeding perfectly.

And who knows what else she gets up to!

Relax. That’s what they all wear these days. I wish I could get away with shit like that.  Put a lock on the window or something, I know, buy a Pomeranian. My friend has one and anytime anybody makes a move it yips its head off like you wouldn’t believe.

All the same I can’t believe she’s climbing out of windows to hang around with boys – not little Vickie!  God she’s not a bit like you is she.  You were such a little tightass!

Not an epithet that could be applied to YOU, my dear.

I’ve forbidden her to leave the house at night. If she does, I have told her I will ask her father to pick her up from school wearing bike shorts and his All You Need is Love medallion. “Oh you wouldn’t! That would be SO tight!” I told her I would and if necessary I might escalate to wearing a boob tube and a flip skirt. I’m calling it ‘creative parenting’.

OUR parents never had to worry about this sort of thing!

Well sure but it’s all about opportunity isn’t it?  When we were teens it was kind of hard to break out?  Like drugs and smoking.  I mean, there was that time the crossing man offered you a fag and said you had nice legs – but Mr Jones the maths teacher saw him do it and he was sacked the next day, so nothing doing there.  And we didn’t even know who our local drug dealer was.  My sister’s kids already know who theirs is, it’s the six year old kid with three unemployed big brothers who grow weed in their bathroom.

And as for slutting it up, there weren’t all the music videos telling you how it’s done for a start.  We used to go on about sluts and slags and whores like we knew what we were talking about but what did we know – nothing!

Mind you as soon as I did know what a slut was I wanted to be one.  I reckon everybody should get tarty at least once in their life, we’re not going to be able to put it around much in the nursing home.

Very true, but that’s not the sort of attitude I want to inculcate in Victoria.

No really, we’re very worried.  Suppose she DOES become sexually active? Suppose she starts to smoke weed? Or she starts to keep company with the wrong sort of person?  I mean, it begins with hanging about at the supermarket at nine o’clock chatting up boys, but where will it end? King’s Cross?

I don’t know, I don’t feel as if I can control anything at the moment! Victoria won’t do as she’s told and neither will Steve, and who am I to tell anybody what to do anyway – just a middle aged unemployed, what did you used to call me – champagne mum!

How do you mean Steve won’t do what he’s told?  I thought you had his balls tied up to your handbag.

Oh, nothing.  I told you, there’s nothing wrong with OUR marriage. I mean, of course we have our little disagreements from time to time, who doesn’t!

But you know, I DON’T want to be one of those custodial grandparents one hears about, who get left with the baby while the errant child joins a rock group in Byron Bay.  If you know what I mean.

OTHERWISE, I’m perfectly happy.  Absolutely peachy, darling!

All sunshiny for once?

Notsofancy Nancy (although she does seem rather fancy, in the sense of special, to me) has nominated me for the Sunshine Award. That is, she nominated Butimbeautiful and SHE – being the saint she is – decided to pass the award on to me, as I’m much less popular than she is.  Luckily, Nancy doesn’t seem to mind.


Nancy is a dog lover (yay Nancy!!!), she lives in the desert and she’s publishing her father’s letters from the 2nd World War, which I think is a lovely tribute to him as well as being a real window into the times.

SO – the rules of the award state that you have to link to your nominating blogger – thanks a HEAP Nancy – answer some questions, and then pass the award on to ten other bloggers.  When I do it, I usually give it to people who’ve either got it already or WORSE, have already got it from ME!  And THEN I get their sex wrong.  Bless me father for I am about to sin, and forgive me my crappy memory!

Anyway here are the questions, and as usual, I’m going to twist them to my own evil purposes.

Favorite State: Asleep. You can’t feel anything when you’re asleep. Also, I think of really good ideas, which come to me during the night and are liable to disappear before breakfast.

Favorite Saying: Just chill. Whatever! I’m probably some dead rapper’s Hell – he wants to say cool stuff but he’s stuck inside this about-to-be-fifty year old dudette and it just looks lame.

Favorite Bird: Chuffs. Or choughs. They’re so shiny and black and they snuffle.  Also sparrows, which are tiny and cute. Cockatoos are good but eat my verandah. Birds are extremely canny, they just look at you sideways and you know THEY know you’re a fraud…

Paper or Plastic: Plastic. I just LURVE all those deadly chemicals that eat your sperm and scramble your eggs.

The Best Advice you have been given: I’m notorious for never listening to advice. I always think I know best. I don’t, though. C’est la vie.

Favorite Holiday: To the NSW South Coast when I was a kid. Here’s a picture of where we used to go every school hols. It was AWESOME!

Favorite Activity:  Sex, followed by or if possible combined with sleeping.

My 10 Nominees: TA DA!!!

  1. Joe Beans 2002, because he’s very clever indeed.
  2. Hollyanne Gets Poetic, the best poetess in the entire world.
  3. Chris Sheridan, who never fails to entertain with stories of his (made-up?) adventures
  4. Babe Darla. I want your life, Darla. Give it to me!
  5. The Boeskool, just because he’s witty and thinks the same thing as I do about stuff.
  6. Kooky Clara– I just LIKE kooky people.
  7. Meltdown Messiah.  That was me last night.
  8. Another Boomer Blog. I can never decide whether I am one or I’m not one.
  9. Zoeaed – sounds like a triad but with Zoe’s in it.
  10. Cherylmore. Because we want more Cheryl!!

That’s all folks! Hope you like them, because I do!  And awardees, you have a CHOICE of questions! Yes, you can either answer the ones Fancynancy laid out – OR you can answer the ones HER awarder gave, or you can give up and answer these ones (I love asking questions!).

  • What’s the weirdest thing you ever ate?
  • If you were Cinderella/Prince Charming, what outfit would you wear to the ball?
  • What colour is your parachute?
  • What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without having a shower?
  • Do you snore?
  • What’s your favourite cartoon character?
  • Is toilet humour ever funny? (or does your toilet forget the punch line, like me)

Missing, presumed dead

Something is wrong

With him and me.

Back aches, work

Whines for my attention.

Wet wood won’t fire.

Over the dinner table,

Dull talk. Tired embraces.

Where is the lust?

The wires don’t conduct

Today, between us.

Shifting portrait

To him, with indifference

I gave freedom.

He had it already.


He played the tunes we’d listened to in bed.  There was

Comfort against many strangers.

The old intimacy, but not quite.

Fascination, for the shifting portrait I drew.

An unfinished episode.



But not dependence.

Forgetting isn’t easy, even now with you.

He was a game I couldn’t win.

If I’d had him and you in either palm,

I wouldn’t even keep a silence once a year,

I wouldn’t ever yearn,

For him.

This was a poem I wrote a very long time ago. I was thinking, how little things have changed.  It could have been about so many relationships I’ve had since.  Playing games I couldn’t win.  I have to break the mould!!

Sex, Politics and Hotmail – Chapter Four

A Tale of Two Women and their Push Up Bras

In a country not that far away, at a time not very long ago, a nerd with time on her hands hacked into the email accounts of two well-known women. She passed the shocking results on to a friend..who passed them on to a friend…who published them on this blog.  Can you guess who these women are?

THE STORY SO FAR….(Chapters One to Three)

Rose has escaped from a sexless marriage by way of a one night stand with handsome but hopeless-in-the-sack Wayne Sexton.  As for Olivia, middle-aged spread and a teenage daughter with piercings has kind of dented her dream.  They’re old friends reunited – but does Rose have designs on Olivia’s billionnaire hubby?

Get your hands off my..

You know, he’d probably take you back, if you said you were really, really sorry.

You’ve got to be kidding!

Well, it was Steve’s idea really.  He says he hates to think of you all alone on a Friday night, with nothing but a bottle of Baileys and your memories!

Aw!  How sweet!  Tell Steve he needn’t feel sorry for me, John’s the one who needs the sympathy. He didn’t want to be divorced, he wanted to go on being miserable, he enjoys it.  Though now he’ll be able to get his fetish magazines down from the top shelf in the kitchen above all those appliances we bought and never used –the ones he thought I didn’t know about.  He might as well put them straight out on the bedside table now.  Come to think of it he was taking his life in his hands climbing up there every time he needed a wank! Ha ha.  Wish he’d broken his frigging neck!

Oh come on Rose, you wouldn’t have stayed so long if it had been that bad.  Do you miss him?

Hell no!  I’m having a spectacular time! Free at last. Like, if I want, I can eat mcnuggets every single night of the frigging week!  In my trackie daks!

I don’t know. It’s rather sad that it’s come to this, don’t you think?  Do you remember when we first met them? We were all so young and goodlooking…well, young anyway..

Oh god yeah! That day, in that pub in Glebe! We were eighteen and it was our first time in a pub and we were so nervous? Like, actually buying our own alcohol? Instead of getting it out of a coke bottle down the local park.

Remember how Steve came over to where we were hanging out – god he was cute in those days – and said his friend wanted to know if we’d like to have a drink with them?  Cause John was too shy to come over himself, so Steve said anyway.  And we looked over and there was John trying to build houses out of beer mats like we didn’t even exist!  Typical aspergers. I know that now.

Hey and do you remember Steve was wearing those orange flared trousers and one earring, and we thought he was hot but we couldn’t remember which ear you were supposed to wear your earring in to show you were gay – but you didn’t want to ask him cause you were too ladylike?  And they were both pissed as newts.


And you and me went into the toilet and argued about which one we wanted, and I baggsed Steve because he had bigger feet, and you know what THAT means.  And you said you wanted John, cause he looked like he worked in accounts or finance or something and you said guys like that could afford to take their girlfriends on expensive weekends in the country but guys like Steve were only interested in one thing.  Only we didn’t know whether it was a girl thing or a boy thing.  Ha!

Only it turned out John liked me because I looked like his mum –just as well I never SAW his mum till we were properly hooked up cause she was fucking GROSS!   And Steve liked you because he thought you were a challenge.

And you bloody well were – you made him wait, what was it, six months? I bet you he’d drop you if he didn’t get his leg over – and you bet me he’d ask you to marry him, and I couldn’t believe it you were right!!!

And Steve told John to watch out for chicks like me, what was it he said? Mate, if she drops her undies for you on the second date, how long do you think she’ll wait to drop them for every other guy she meets.

And I said, like, WTF! And you said men were like that, you couldn’t just sleep with them when you felt like it otherwise they’d think you were a slut and not wife material?  And the rest is history.  I’m glad you ended up with him by the way – don’t think I’m harking back or anything like that.

I remember it quite differently, as it happens.  I remember you falling all over Steve with your arms around his neck, and trying to sit on his bar stool.  And your hair got caught in his earring and the stool tipped when you were trying to pull it out, and you both fell onto the floor into a puddle of beer, and you just lay there giggling and trying to pull your skirt down over your panties. I was mortified!

And didn’t you have sex with John on the first date, not the second? I expect he wanted to wait till the second, but you probably insisted!


So is it true what they say about big feet?

I’m not complaining.  I don’t know why anyone would want a man with a large penis anyway.

You don’t? Liv, Steve is WASTED on you!

Rose, now you’re single, I want us to get one thing straight.  Steve married me.  We’re very happy together.  I know you two used to flirt when we were younger – not that it meant anything – but we’ve all grown up since then, and I’d really rather you didn’t make suggestive remarks.  I do hope I haven’t offended you, darling!

Babe, I’m in Sydney.  You’re in Perth.  How the fuck am I going to flirt with your billionaire husband from here! Anyway, I don’t want your bloody hubby – I’ve just got rid of mine and there’s no way I’m gonna be signing up for another one anytime soon.  And another thing, I like my toyshop without the verandah, ta very muchly.

Free Write Friday – the Spooky Edition!!!

It’s Kellie Elmore’s Free Write Friday and here is the Prompt.

And HERE is the story.


Nay, I lie. For it was, forsooth, about eight in the evening.  I lay abed in that place where the Sick are Healed and Many of the Healed get Sick (ie, hospital).  And I was great with child.

Takest thou this pill,  my physician adjured me.  For the monster within you comes not forth betimes, and winter is coming!

I took the physician’s nostrum, and some four hours hence, there came a great flood upon the waters, and pains upon my belly, and I called to the sisters of mercy who attended me there.

The monster moves! He comes!  Take me to the birthing chamber where I may thrust him forth into the eternal struggle that is the fate of all who live!

The sisters took me up, and conveyed me to the chamber of birthing, where I lay, calling upon the spirits of my ancestors and all the Gods that knew me not, to release me from this foul agony which had gripped my weak and feeble woman’s body.  And I awaited the coming of the monstrous one!

It was not to be.  The demon’s head would not pass forth from the gates of my delicate cervix, and though the physician called upon her greatest powers, the only part of him that she might seize was a lock of night dark hair (or it could have been blonde.  It was a long time ago).

Struggled she with the demon for thirteen turns of the clock! Then, wiping the bloody sweat from her brow as she crouched between my straining thighs, she turned towards me and said:

The hour is late.  Thy doom approacheth.  You must choose – either I cut thy body open to release this dread creature upon the instant, or thou and he must perish upon the medicated tiles!

Draw your sword, said I, and strike, for my strength is failing, and I care no more!

And she gave to me a strong sleeping draught, probably milk of the poppy, and did draw her shining sword, and with one mighty stroke she released the monster from within my straining belly – and handed it to its Father, waiting there upon the battlements.

Wouldst thou look upon this creature thou has borne? asked the doctor, trembling.

NAY, quoth I, for I had been through horrid torment, and was sore afraid, and somewhat depressed also.

But upon the fair afternoon of Friday 13th, I did screw up my courage and look upon the monster, and saw that it was a beauteous babe, and fair to behold beyond all other babes (and so have I always maintained, ever since that day, though other mothers may not always have agreed upon the matter).

And I named the babe Mr F, and ever since have celebrated this most happy of days with merriment and thanksgiving!  For it is his birthday!