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?
Newly divorced, 40 something Rose’s jeans are just TOO tight. Her friend Olivia, meanwhile, is eyeing up State Parliament, on the conservative side, naturally.
Guess what! I put an ad in the local paper for a date!
In the paper!! Darling – this is the twenty-first century!
Yes I know. But you and me are not from then, babe. Anyway they did it in that cool song, you know, ‘do you like pina colada’ that kind of thing? And before you tell me it’s pathetic, alright I know that, ok? – but it’s been months since I saw the inside of a man’s boxers except over the fence on the neighbour’s washing line, and I am getting desperate. Seriously.
And it’s free – you just put an ad in, write some stuff about yourself, and then guys ring up and leave you their phone numbers. It’s just like the dunny doors at high school, only classier, don’t you reckon?
I knew this woman – she made a date with some person she found in the classifieds. Anyway, HE said he’d be sitting in the park holding a bunch of red roses and reading the newspaper. So she turned up, full of anticipation, and he lowers the newspaper – and it’s her ex-husband! Tres embarrassing all round.
So what happened then?
They got married again. Then they remembered why they hated each other in the first place and got divorced. Again.
Well that won’t happen cause I know the bastard’s voice.
Anyway this is my ad,
‘Wild superhot cougar seeks Rock God or nearest offer, for fun.”
Fun. You mean sex.
Obviously. I mean it’s great being single and all that but Liv, I’m just hanging out for you know what! You know how it is when you’re sitting on your chair at work and your fanny’s all warm and buzzy and you keep having to shift around all the time and the boss says what’s up Rosie, women’s problems? You BET women’s problems, mate.
And then I’m out in my jeans at the weekend just, you know, looking for something in Bunnings, and they have that seam up the middle and, ooh baby.
I have no idea what you’re talking about!
And there’s this space in the bed. I don’t want some fat creep snoring away there in the morning but last thing at night I could really do with some man action to get me to sleep. Hot milk just isn’t doing it for me!
Do you think ‘superhot’ is overdoing it?
Darling, I can’t help wondering if your ad might encourage the wrong sort of man. Why not just ‘attractive, enjoys red wine and sunsets’?
Anyway, can’t you meet men the normal way?
What is the ‘normal’ way these days for chrissake! Like at dinner parties and in the veggie aisle? Who the fuck does meet anyone the normal way, at our time of life! Nobody invites me to dinner parties anyway. Guess I’ve become a scary single lady and anyway even when I do get invited to a barbie it’s just couples so what’s the use of that. Married chicks think I’m going to try and screw their fat boring other halves behind the shed and you can’t explain you wouldn’t come within sniffing distance of his droopy old butt cheeks without being kind of tactless? It’s like what they used to say in that socialist rag, the haves against the have-nots – not that you’ve got anything to worry about luv, Steve is the real devoted husband, right.
Oh yes, absolutely. Do you know where he took me for our wedding anniversary last week? The Loose Box! Three hundred dollars for the wine alone, and you have to book a year in advance! I’d show you the pearls he bought me, too, only – well perhaps I can find a photo.
Oh well aren’t some of us lucky! Where you going next anniversary, the Paddock?
Anyway I’ve tried hanging around looking hot in the supermarket but so far zilch offers. Do you reckon women really get asked out on a date at the shops? Don’t you believe it. Here I am practically haunting frozen foods wearing drop-them-dead jeans and a low cut top, but what do I get? Fuck all!
Although a bogan at the local pub gave me his card last night. I was there trying to use the pay phone cause the bloody car wouldn’t start, and the blue singlet and stubbies brigade staring at my bum like it’s got next week’s winning lotto number on it. So this fat guy with tatts and a goatee comes over and asks me if I’m married or what, and when I say I don’t happen to be in that situation right now, he says he’s free himself actually and if I ever need anything screwed in, to give him a call. So I said I definitely would, sometime. See, I can still pull them!
You wouldn’t! You can do better than that, surely!
Dunno. Maybe? You know what they say about a bird in the hand?
Nah I won’t though – don’t worry. Not unless things get really bad.