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Sex, Politics and Hotmail: Chapter 15: Olivia’s Pet Refugee

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 Fourteen)

Rose is about to explore the spiritual side of wanking.  Meanwhile, Olivia and Moira are doing great things in their capacity as electoral office assistants to the great Clive Hamilton-Hogg.

Oh guess what, Moira and I seem to have made a sort of friend!  Last week while Clive was in Perth this Vietnamese doctor – not a medical doctor, a PhD that is – turned up at the office and he’s been here ever since.  I mean not literally, obviously, I expect he has a home to go to but you wouldn’t think so, considering how often he pops in.  Moira says he probably has the hots for one of us.

The poor man has been trying to obtain permanent residence here, but the department of immigration keeps refusing and telling him he has to go back to Vietnam as Australia needs more hairdressers and chefs, not bacteriologists.  This doesn’t seem logical, does it! After all if there are so many hairdressers why does it always take two weeks to get an appointment?  I ask you!

He is quite desperate and sits in the waiting area day after day, insisting that he wants Clive to appeal personally to the Minister. He knows Clive is in Perth because it’s a sitting week – but that doesn’t stop him coming in and waiting around like a little lost dog!

We offer him cakes and lemonade to keep his spirits up – Moira is so sweet, she makes the most delicious tiramisu – and he tells us stories about South Vietnam in the good old days, when the French were in charge and you could buy croissants for breakfast in Saigon. I don’t know why some people disapprove of Asian migration.  He’s so grateful and well-mannered, I wish there were more like him!

Clive is a Vietnamese war veteran, apparently, and I’m sure he will try to do everything in his power to help, when he gets back.

Steve’s not feeling well.  I’ll have to take time off to take him to the doctor.  Such a bother.  The poor thing suffers dreadfully from hypochondria.

Sorry to hear poor old Steve’s crook – again!  Have you thought about hiding the Medical Family Handbook? Might save you a packet in medical bills?


You know it’s wicked what Mr Tran has been through.  The Immigration Department has been shockingly mean to him.  Especially considering how well educated he is. I mean, a PhD – he’s not exactly going to lower the IQ of the nation, is he.  But Immigration say he’s too old.  He’s only 41, for god’s sake.  And you know how Asians don’t age as we do, probably we should calculate their age differently, the same as one does for pets – that sounds awful doesn’t it.  But it makes perfect sense when you think about it – for instance we could count fifteen Asian years as ten European years so if you look at it like that, Mr Tran is really only in his twenties.

Of course we must protect our borders and so on.  But not from people like Mr Tran.  Or Clive’s nice Asian wife.  I don’t know why immigration can’t be more discriminating, you’d think they couldn’t TELL a civilized person from a terrorist!

Moira agrees with me. I find Moira agrees with me about most things, that’s so refreshing really.

You two sound like a match made in heaven. Maybe you should divorce Steve and marry Moira.

I dunno about terrorists but I reckon they should let more men in. There’s not enough blokes here as it is, it’d be so much easier for us single women if they let in a whole crowd of guys from like, Denmark or somewhere, shake up the competition.  Plus I don’t think they should let in any more Thai girls, that’s just common sense when you think about it.

How’s Steve now anyway?  What did the doc say?

Just back from the proctologist!  Nothing too serious.  Steve thinks he may have irritable bowel syndrome.  That would account for the length of time he spends in the upstairs toilet, I suppose.  And why he emerges with an odd look on his face…I expect he’s embarrassed.  But as I told him there’s no need to keep any secrets from me.  In fact, since we’re married, it’s almost MANDATED.  Wouldn’t you agree?

Sex, Politics and Hotmail: Chapter14

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 Thirteen)

While Olivia Harris-Smythe is just loving her new job in the office of Clive Hamilton-Hogg, and her sexy but scarily efficient colleague Moira, Rose is getting interested in the spiritual side of life.

When things go up..

This job is fantastic! I never enjoyed anything so much in my life!  I don’t know why I didn’t do this twenty years ago! Actually I do but that’s another story.

Moira’s just so incredibly efficient – and so poised and well groomed, I’m jealous!  Her hair is NEVER frizzy and her toenail polish matches her fingernails and her jewellery is discreet but in perfect taste, and her handbags are Louis Vuitton….and she wears Bobbi Brown.  I expect she must be very well off, she probably just works in the office for kicks.  Like me. But it seems rude to ask.

Of course we’re dreadfully BUSY – which is why I didn’t manage to reply for, gosh, almost a week!  Clive’s out of the electorate a good deal, attending functions and State parliament and so on – so Moira and I are left to ourselves a lot of the time.  It gives one such a wonderful sense of authority and of being useful in the community!

People come in every day with their little complaints and problems!  But Moira just sorts them all out as if they were naughty four year olds at a birthday party.  For instance just yesterday we had two old ladies in here screeching at one another,

“I’m ninety, I am, and I shouldn’t be expected to put up with plane trees on the nature strip!  But SHE doesn’t care that I suffer from life threatening allergies, oh no, SHE wants me to drop down dead in my own home because I can’t breathe, so she can make her cow eyes at my husband – now young lady, I want you to write to the Minister and..”

“What do you mean cow eyes you stupid old bat, it’s my HUMAN right to plant plane trees on my bloody nature strip if I want to, that tree’s been there since 1962 and as for your dirty old fellow, you tell him from me if he sets one foot – ONE FOOT – on my lawn I’ll call the police – looking in my bay window in the morning while I’m getting my slippers on like some kind of peeping Tom, there’s laws against that sort of thing, even if he does say he’s just cutting back the roses..”

But Moira’s as calm as the dalai lama – she just makes them both a nice cup of Lapsang Soochong with home made shortbread biscuits and pretty soon they’re both chatting happily to one another and blaming the Greens somehow or other, I forget how she managed it!

I do so admire that woman!  Even if she does wear heels several inches beyond practicality!

Sounds like a hoot!

Hey guess what, Brett and me  have been on three dates now, it’s practically a serious relationship.  I’m really getting into this whole  Higher Awareness Training thing too!  Brett’s pretty high up in it, last week they asked him to give a presentation. On wanking.

Don’t people KNOW how to do that, for heaven’s sake!

Yeah but this is on a spiritual level. I mean have you ever wanked spiritually??

I don’t ‘wank’.

Yeah right.  Anyway Brett’s invited me to a nudie resort.  He says it’s just great, all the HAT people float around in hot tubs and hold hands and wash each others hair and talk about their emotions.  He says if I went he can really see me expanding, soul-wise.  I don’t see why not, do you?

Rose, it’s just a great big swingers party! If you go you’ll probably be raped by scores of rabid naturists.

No I won’t.  It’s all consensual Brett says.  If people want to stroke each other they have to ask, and then, if the other person doesn’t want to they can say no, no hard feelings, right?  I bet the men get a lot of practice asking and the chicks get pretty used to saying no but I’m not knocking it.  And they have seminars on your chakra and the clitoris and stuff like that.  Apparently it’s better if you’re stoned.  Brett’s got a bathroom full of plants so it’s no prob for him.

Get this though, nobody’s allowed to have sex.  You can talk about it and you can feel each other up as much as you like but you’re only allowed to screw if you’ve gone up all the grades and passed the exams.  Brett’s almost the whole way up, he’s so experienced!  He says it’s very empowering.

Empowering my bottom!

Yeah exactly.  Anyway, I reckon a bloke who’s put in all that time sitting around listening to lectures on women’s clits and looking deep in their eyes and sharing, must be really good at it?   I bet a guy like that would take hours before he even put it in!   I bet by the time he was done I would’ve had about twenty orgasms and feel totally explored and fulfilled and liberated –  I mean, this guy’s gotta know shit about the female body I’ve never even heard of!  Like, you know how they discovered the g spot, well Brett could probably take me through the whole frigging alphabet!  Or maybe he knows how to do that tantric thing where you come for hours. He must have bonked hundreds of women, I reckon. But not in a disrespectful way or anything.  That’s what I like about him.  Not like wham bam I never came Wayne.

Anyway I’m obviously gonna go to bed with him. Hey you know what, I’ve never screwed anyone before that’s practically got a degree in it!

Sex, Politics and Hotmail: Chapter 13: The right vibrations

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 Twelve)

Fed up with her billionaire husband Steve’s philandering, and longing for something more in life, Olivia Harris-Smythe has joined the Liberal Party of Australia to begin the long slow climb up the greasy pole of politics. Meanwhile, Rose is thinking of altogether another kind of greasy pole.

Do you ever think about spiritual shit, Liv?

I beg your pardon? What kind of spiritual, er, shit?

Ha ha. I’ve been thinking, Maybe the reason my life’s pretty shitty at the moment is cause I don’t have the right vibes.  Maybe I should do some work on my karma.  Like, you’ve got the Liberal party and all that, maybe it’s time for me to get into something spiritual too, like religion say?

What do you reckon? Do you believe in your soul? I always thought it was just some crap the nuns made up so they could make you feel bad.

I have no idea.  You’re not thinking of joining a cult, are you? If you are feeling religious, darling, you should probably join the Uniting Church, it’s safer and you’ll probably meet much more eligible men.

I’ve met one already!  In the classifieds.  And he’s lovely, and a real intellectual!

He believes we’ve all got a reason for being here and it’s to spread peace and love and all that in the world, only he’s not like those bloody nuns at school, cause he thinks sex is part of the path to enlightenment – but only when you approach it the right way.  It all makes sense to me, sort of.

It’s called Higher Awareness Training apparently.  HAT for short.  You get to go on retreats in the bush and they give you lectures on things like how to ASK for what you want and how to approach others with love, acceptance and respect.  Isn’t that nice?

Is he goodlooking?  Does he earn an income?

Yeah, sure, he’s got a job. He doesn’t, like, own a porsche or anything, but I’m not that shallow.  And he’s not that bad looking.  He’s better looking than that Wiccan guy anyways.

And what do they do at these retreats? Pray?

Well…I know you’ll crack up but they have orgies. Only they don’t call them orgies. They’re about showing your love and acceptance through sharing your sexuality or something like that. You just touch people and appreciate them for what they truly are, including their bodies.  Everybody hugs and kisses and supports one another.  It sounds fantastic to me!

How do you mean, touch people?  Where?

Everywhere. I mean anywhere you want to if they want to too. Nobody’s forced to do anything they don’t want to, I think you can just sit round and hold hands if you want or watch or whatever. Or even wank. It’s very enlightened.  Brett says it’s beautiful and he’s grown a lot through it.

It sounds revolting. This Brett sounds very unhygienic. Can you imagine how many bottoms that man’s hand has been in? I am not talking about sexual morals here, simply hygiene.  What is wrong with him? Normal people don’t do self development programs in my experience, although they may read about it in books.  Workshops are for odd people, like psychologists.

But Brett’s very thoughtful. I mean, he thinks a lot, about things, like why his mother changed the sheets six times a week and never made his school lunch, and the role of the new man in today’s society.  I never thought about that shit, did you? It makes you think about what your folks did to fuck you up only I never really realized it before.  Hey you should try one of these things, it could really open your mind?  Brett says it gets out all the repressed shit and you come out feeling much more, like, relaxed and aware of everything and stuff like that.

No thank you.

Anyway I’m off to the chemist now to get some eye drops.  Steve has convinced himself he’s suffering from vitamin P deficiency.  He’s annoyed with me as I have told him he does NOT need to visit an iridologist – he just needs to spend fewer hours locked in the library in front of that jolly laptop of his!


Sex, Politics and Hotmail: Chapter 12: At the bottom of the Greasy Pole

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 Eleven)

Fed up with her billionaire husband Steve’s philandering, and longing for something more in life, Olivia Harris-Smythe has joined the Liberal Party of Australia to work for MP Clive Hamilton-Hogg.  Things can only go up from here..

I’ve met this gorgeous woman called Moira who works in Clive’s electorate office, and she says they have been looking for a volunteer assistant office manager for months, but no one seems to be quite right for the role.  She thinks I would be perfect, considering the experience I have had in the P&C, and organizing the mother’s club, and all those charity drives, etc.  I rather like her – do you think I should do it?  I wouldn’t want to short change Victoria – after all she is used to her mother being home most of the time, and as I said she’s going through a rather difficult time at the moment. Do you think she’ll cope?

Oh sure. We coped didn’t we?

Sounds like a golden opportunity to me. So what are the blokes like?

I’m past noticing that kind of thing.  But at least the people on our side are a lot more well-groomed than the Greens – they hold their meetings in the coffee shop just round the corner from Clive’s office and they are VERY scruffily dressed.  They seem to consist mainly of public school teachers and academics with carnivorous facial hair. I don’t see what’s so environmentally unsound about washing occasionally, do you?

But you know I’ve had a wonderful idea about Victoria!  I’ve suggested to her that she might like to join the youth branch, as there are a lot of polite, well brought up young people she could associate with and perhaps it would give her an interest in something useful to society, like civics or economics.  And that would keep her busy, don’t you think, so that she wouldn’t have so much time on her hands to spend with undesirable young men, such as Julian.

Young Liberals root too, Liv. Bet they’re even dirtier minded than socialists when it comes down to it.  What does Vickie say anyway? Is she keen?

This is what young Australian conservatives look like. Aren’t they lovely!!

Apparently not.  She says that would be ‘incredibly gay’.  Oh well.  Perhaps she’ll warm to the idea.

Sex, Politics and Hotmail: Chapter Ten: Olivia Joins Up

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 Nine)

Olivia’s billionaire hubby Steve’s turned out to be a root rat. Not only that, but with a podiatrist! Will she leave him?  Will she get her feet done?  And will Rose find love through her ad in the paper – or just another tattooed man with a plumbers’ crack.

I’ve done it!

What???? Left him? You ROCK!  Serves the fucker right!

No of course not, don’t be silly!

I’ve joined the local branch of the Liberal party.  Steve is very supportive actually – although I can’t help suspecting it is only because it will leave him with more free time to pursue his ‘interests’ – but Victoria complains bitterly, as she feels her family merely exist to prop up a corrupt plutocracy.  I have to admit she’s very like I was myself at that age, in that regard.   She says if I have to ‘get involved’, why can’t I join the Greens, as at least they are quite ‘cool’ (except for the local Greens candidate, Gareth Fry, who is ‘hot’).

Oh.  Whatever.  You go girl!  I bet you’ll be an asset (literally). You know what, I’ve always wondered what Liberals are really like.  Do you reckon they really believe their own crap or are they just in it for the money?

What money? You do know that most right wing politicians are already successful businessmen, they LOSE money going into politics, darling.

Oh by the way, did you get any applications from lonely rock gods? I hear Mick Jagger’s free at the moment.

 Don’t you laugh! I’m doing alright. No sex yet but who knows, who friggin knows, right?

Nah you’re right, Mick’s busy. But – I’ve been out every night this week – course I rang mum and told her I was much too busy to call in and see her and that cheered her up no end.  She doesn’t mind if she doesn’t see me for dust as long as it’s for a good cause – like, men.

Do tell!  I hope you’re being reasonably discriminating.

Fuck that. So let’s see – on Friday arvo I went out for coffee with a nice young man from the country, all fresh-faced and like, check-shirted.  Apparently there aren’t any single girls available in Coonabarabran or Warrawarrabegun or whatever and he says all he wants is an easygoing, simple kind of chick, I mean lady, with curves.  So that’s me. I got curves! I got curves where other people have got straights.

It was one of those awkward things though. Like “I guess you get a lot of drought down your way then..”, “Yeah, that’s right.”  “So, um…how are the sheep taking it all..?”  “Could be worse.”  “Yeah? How’s that?”  (that’s me trying to look interested)  “Yeah I guess. Floods are worse.”  “Oh yeah right I guess they must be.. fuck what’s the time I must be going!”.

Dunno about you but I don’t like country people.  I don’t mind eating chickens but farmers, they kill cows with their bare hands and then they laugh at you for not knowing where your meat comes from. Screw that.

And then, oh yeah, on Friday night I went for a drink with a Wiccan.  You know, I always thought Wiccans must be all women, cause it’s all about the Great Mother Goddess, but I guess they have to have the odd bloke along, representing the devil at meetings and all that. Wouldn’t be much fun otherwise would it.  You’d have thought though the blokes would have to be feminists cause otherwise the other witches would kick them out, wouldn’t you?  But THIS guy turns up in a blue singlet and stubbies with tatts of naked mermaids on his biceps and lets drop he had to smack his ex girlfriend around a bit to keep her in line.

‘Mate, you’ve gotta be kidding.’

‘She liked it’ says Tattoo-Man. ‘So when can you and me get together? Cause there’s definitely a vacancy right now, if you know what I mean.’

Yeah right.

Then Saturday I went out for dinner with a guy who said he modelled for calendars. Turned out he was Mr July 1976 but I can’t really blame him, I was pretty hot twenty years ago hey!  We were dining al fresco and he kept watching the cars going past and pointing out his favourite ones like “Hey will you look at that, that’s a 1962 Mazda convertible, they only made 6000 of them!” and “Look at the chick driving that Hilux, bet she has hairy armpits and nipple rings.’

Pretty weird.  Like, here’s me.

“So, you divorced? Single? Widowed?”

“Ahhh, yeah.” (him) “Separated.  Me girlfriend had this thing with her uterus?”

“Yeah? What kind of thing?” (what the fuck is a uterus anyway? Sometimes wish I’d paid more attention to those diagrams in high school?)

“Well she had, you know, a cyst or something, and she had to have it taken out, and she was real sick for months – said she couldn’t have sex, cause it hurt? So what was I supposed to do!”

“I dunno.  What?”

It’s like talking to taxi drivers. You ask them to take you to the airport, next thing you’re finding out about their mother in law’s gallbladder.

“Well I said, this isn’t going to work, I’ve got needs. So get your shit together girl, I said, or I’m out of here.  We’re finished, I told her.”

“And did she? Get her shit together?”

“Nah, we split up.”

“So, having much luck with the ladies?” I kind of thought maybe not.

“Oh yeah, well I go see this lady in Tuggeranong, she’s a sex worker – but, like, she really likes what I do.  See my specialty is going DOWN?  She REALLY likes it, she wants me to stay after the hour’s up so I can, like, really make her scream? I’m the best lover she’s ever had, she says.  What do yer think about that?”


Liv, if you’re ever stumped for something to say, just say wow, gets them every time. Anyway I didn’t have to say much else cause just then he saw a really eye catching BMW with diplomatic plates, and then he said he desperately needed to drop a load, and where was the nearest public dunny.  So I pointed them out and ran for it.

Do you reckon he really was a sex god and I just missed out on the ride of my life?

Btw did Steve really sign a contract? He must be seriously devoted to sign a thing like that. Men get off big time thinking they’re the boss – well he can’t be under any illusions now can he!  I never could’ve got John to obey a set of rules like that – he would have said it made him feel like a pussy and told me to fuck off.  Does Steve feel like a pussy?

Yes I believe he does feel somewhat emasculated, but I told him he was lucky it was purely psychological.  But there’s nothing like a philandering husband to make a woman feel insecure.  You know I USED not to even think about my looks – well, not much, only when we went out to company lunches or something like that and I’d put on a bit of powder and lipstick –  and I hardly even thought about ageing – only to the extent of buying a few anti-wrinkle potions and they never made any difference – but I didn’t really CARE then.

But NOW!  I keep looking at myself in the mirror and thinking, oh my god Olivia, you are NOT twenty five any more.  SHE by the way is thirty two, so my friend said – the one who told me about the clippings.  Only Chinese women don’t age as we Australians do, which makes it all worse.

By the way, do you know anything about Botox? Everyone seems to be having it nowadays.  Of course, now that you’re on the market again you’ll probably be considering something of the kind, because it’s really a war out there and we’re not spring chickens any more –   I mean, what is it LIKE being single and mature.  You never know, I might be in the same boat soon.

I don’t know much about Botox.  Seems to be the great moral challenge of our times.  I mean, if you could click your fingers and be ten years younger and with bigger lips and a cute little nose, wouldn’t you? But when it means going to some ‘clinic’ where the women all wear white coats and really thick makeup, and you get needles stuck in your face, that’s when you really have to think about your principles isn’t it.  I wouldn’t do it just to please a man but why the fuck else would you do it?

On the other hand – yeah, I’d rather be single and twenty five! Only when I was twenty five I wasn’t nearly so good at it, being single that is.  I take rejection better nowadays.  You have to, you get really used to it.

I wouldn’t worry too much about old Steve, it’s probably all talk.  You know what they say, the last embers of a dying flame. I think they all go through a stage where they want to run off to south east Asia where the women love you long time and aren’t too fussy –  but they’re usually too lazy to organize their own plane tickets.  Also he’d miss you and Vickie heaps.  He dotes on her still doesn’t he?  And, you know, if he signed that thing, he must be pretty damn committed – really.

He signed it because he was scared I’d take Victoria and three quarters of the joint assets.  He’s pretty committed to those assets!

Sex, Politics and Hotmail: Chapter Nine – Beware the Podiatrist

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 Eight)

Olivia Harris-Finke, with her adoring billionaire hubby and jetset lifestyle, is the envy of lonely recently divorced Rose.  But Olivia’s casual bragging hides a major crack in her oh-so-happy marriage.  Rose, as usual, puts both feet right into it.


Oh baby I’m sorry, I never should have said that!  Don’t cry. I didn’t mean to be such a fucking cow.  You’re my bestie, you should be crying on my shoulder only you’re so damn far away I can’t hug you but honey I’d really like to.

I didn’t mean to go on all the time about you being happy.  It’s just that I thought you were happy. You never said you weren’t.  Every time I wrote you about how much John was getting up my nose you used to write back and say marriage is something you have to work at, and we just need to communicate about our feelings more and shit like that.  I thought you were a real guru!  Or at least, I thought you probably read some guru’s book or other and you were like passing it on?  Work at it, you said.  But like, fuck – you go to work to do work, then you come home, you don’t want to do more work.

So what’s the problem? Is it Steve? Tell mama Rose!

Yes of course it’s Steve.  Who else!  Oh, there’s Victoria, of course, things are not too good in that department either, I might as well NOT have been a stay-at-home mother for all the difference it’s made! In any case, that doesn’t make it any better.  Sometimes it seems like my whole life is coming apart at the seams.  Does life have seams? Anyway.

So what’s up with Steve?  He’s not looking around is he? I always thought he was pretty hot for you.  I remember the way he always used to be hanging around with his hand up your skirt or down your front.  Guess that wears off after a bit, did with us.

Go on then, spit it out. Can’t he get it up any more?

Oh no! There’s nothing wrong with Steve’s sex drive, nothing at all!

In fact last year he had an affair. With his Chinese podiatrist, which I only happened to discover because she told an acquaintance of mine that she kept his toenail clippings in a jar so she could make him fall desperately in love with her.  I hope she had to put them in a drink and swallow them, it would serve her right.

How anyone can fall in lust with a woman who earns her living by snipping corns and putting fungal powder on athletes’ feet is beyond me.  I was tempted to stand outside her office with a placard reading ‘Home Breaker Within’ – or run her over in the Mercedes – but in the end I thought that would be in bad taste.

Fuck the bitch!  Want me to come over there and glass her for you?

Certainly not.

You must be frigging furious!  What a little shit!

Apart from like, being really ratty, sounds like he had totally bad taste anyway. Do you reckon there’s such a thing as sexually transmitted verucas?  A podiatrist! WTF!

You know it’s probably just male menopause. Guys get to their forties and start going bald at the back, they think if they go stick their dicks in as many random chicks as possible, the rest of their hair won’t fall out?  It’s just a phase, it’ll pass. Come to think of it isn’t that what they say about teenagers?  God I’m really sorry if I said the wrong thing though.  The bastard.  If I was there I’d sock him for you.

Thanks Rosey. That’s so sweet of you to offer.

I really don’t know if it’s a phase.  He was certainly very sorry when I found out –  particularly after I threatened to report HER to the Australasian Society of Podiatrists for having a relationship with a patient, and I said I’d tell Victoria her father is an ADULTERER.  You should have seen the look on his face, I almost laughed, if I hadn’t wanted to defenestrate him.

I don’t think he’s done anything like that since – but then once they do it, you never really know do you? It’s like living with someone who’s on the bottle but says they’ve quit –  all you really know is that you haven’t CAUGHT them doing it or at least found the paper bag in the underwear drawer yet.  I feel – unrugged!  As in, when the rug is pulled out from under you.  He made a promise, I made a promise – turned out HE had his fingers crossed!  Men!

How can I trust him anymore?

Well yeah I totally know how you feel.  Actually I don’t know why I said that, I don’t though. John never cheated..the bastard.

Blokes though, they’re not the same as us.  Some random chick says how about it, they’re in there, it doesn’t mean anything. Anyway you know he’s not gonna leave you.  My mum used to say men are like hermit crabs, they don’t leave one shell until they can see another empty one nearby.  I bet you that podiatrist wasn’t empty – probably had kids or a boyfriend or something.  Or a spell circle.

Bet you felt like tearing her limb from limb though. Wouldn’t it be great if she got scabies or mad cow disease or syphilis or something like that? Do people still get those?  You know I wouldn’t have given a rat’s arse if John cheated on me, but I’d be ropeable if it was someone I fancied. Like, that guy I went out with in the last year of school, the one with the Labrador eyes that used to go to St Stephen’s up the road?  When he went off with Wendy Whatmore I could have fucking eaten her alive!

Oh yes. I cried for days, and then I put all his white business shirts in the wash with a new pair of flannelette red pyjamas I just bought for Victoria and they came out pink tie dye – and then I made him tell me all the details – what kind of underwear she likes, whether she likes to get on top, if she’s had a Brazilian or a landing strip.  It was a Brazilian.  I don’t know why, I didn’t want to know any of it but I just HAD to ask.

And then I cried some more and wouldn’t let him touch me.  And then we had angry sex!  I thought about going over to HER office and shouting at her but then what are expensive private schools for if not for preventing one from just that kind of excess?

Oh yeah angry sex.  That’s the good bit about fights isn’t it! Like, when you say, I wouldn’t fucking nail you if you were the last man on the earth, and he grabs you and pushes you over on the bed and says if I were the last man on earth I’d bloody well make you nail me, you bitch! And then he’s got a stiffie like you’ve never seen before and he’s kissing you like he wants to dive down your throat and grabbing your hair and you’re scratching his back and – oh yeah baby!

Me and John had that once, hard to believe, it was after he thought I flirted with the plumber. If he’d been able to do that regularly I might not have left after all.

Oh yes and I drew up a list of rules for the future, a sort of contract if you know what I mean, and I made him sign his name at the bottom – it went more or less like this –

  • No female medical specialists under 50 (you know he’s obsessed with self-diagnosing rare conditions and then having hundreds of tests run to see if he has them)
  • To remain in mobile contact at all times except when in meetings (verified by personal assistant).
  • To be home for dinner unless furnished with a cast iron excuse, again verified by personal assistant.
  • Text messages and receipts to be available for my scrutiny at any time (not necessarily pre-arranged).
  • If caught cheating, Steve agrees to hand over at least 80% of our joint assets.

But if you felt like that about it, why didn’t you just fuck off and leave the creep?

I could have left of course, but what would I do? Where would I go? Back to Mother? I really couldn’t stand her for more than an hour or two, besides, she’s permanently gin-soaked, these days.

Besides –I really don’t want to be back on the market at my age, it’s so dispiriting, as I’m sure you’ll find yourself soon enough.  And, I still love Steve – I think – and I suppose he still loves me. Otherwise that Chinese woman wouldn’t have needed to bother with the toenail clippings. I am not sure I believe in the male menopause.  I suspect that men just want to have one as an excuse to get away with things like women do.

But, you know, sometimes I feel so dreadfully down about the whole thing.  I mean, everybody thinks I’m so privileged, to have a rich husband like Steve and a lovely house and a beautiful daughter but it isn’t always quite what it looks!  I’m getting older, Rose!  And Steve, well he just isn’t. I mean, he is, but not in the same way! Women still look at him!  And if we did get divorced, what would I do?  It’s not like I really have any skills any more.  Victoria is almost grown up.  She’ll have eloped to Paris by the time she’s eighteen.

I’ll be all alone!

Cheer up. So will I.  You could come and paint the town red with me Liv! Plus you’d probably get most of his stash.

Trust you to look on the bright side.

Oh well, I’m sure I’m over-reacting. It’s just hormones, isn’t it.  We all get them, at our age.  I’m post-menopausal, by the way. I had the Change the year before last.  Hot flushes, mood swings – horrible!

Tell me about it. Getting older I mean.  I’m no spring chicken either, mate.  But at least you’re still married.  Trying to find a man when you’re in your forties is no joke, I can’t pick up like I used to.  Not even guys in singlets whistle at me any more, it’s a real bummer!

No, I mean, I’m sure it’s gonna be alright, Liv.  It was just a mid-life crisis, all guys get them when they’re that age, they get over it and then they see how stupid they were.  Anyway you look pretty damn good to me on facebook.  All those expensive creams must be doing you good hey.  Hang on in there, it’ll be alright, trust me. Steve’s not the leaving kind.

How would YOU know. You haven’t seen what he’s like now! He’s taken to wearing a pony tail, for Heaven’s sake.  And ripped jeans!

You’re right, what would I know. Tell you what, Liv, what you should do is go into politics, like you said.  I always thought you were fucking made to be a pollie!  Go round giving speeches to people, shaking hands and kissing babies, that sort of crap? You could do that, I know you could, and it’d take your mind off Steve and his shit.  What do you reckon?

Oh and about Steve’s idea about meeting men by walking the dog, tell him to try it himself!  I went to the park with Pooch and he zeroed in on some lawyer on his evening jog and went for his ankles.  The guy went completely mental and chased him round and round yelling “I’ll kill the ffing mongrel” and Pooch thought it was a game and kept dodging and nipping and I couldn’t catch him for ages.  And he did ask for my phone number but somehow I don’t think it was for a date and anyway I said my name was Smith and I gave that bogan’s number with the tattoos.

Go get em!

Sex, Politics and Hotmail – Chapter Eight

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 Seven)

Rose is starting to get lonely for a man – so she’s put an ad in the lonely hearts section for a ‘rock god or nearest offer’.

I’m not fucking rebelling!


Sexy Dogs Being Walked by Some Girl

Steve says that you might have better luck with men if you take up dog walking – instead of going to dinner parties for couples and so on.  You do still have a dog, don’t you?  It worked in 101 Dalmatians.

About that ad of yours – what exactly do you mean by ‘wild’, by the way? As in, the kind of person who throws daisies at politicians and wears long white smock dresses? – or just as in, ‘often drunk in public places and possessing poor decision-making capacity’?

Oh you know what I mean!  Wild.  Up for a good time. Like all the things I wasn’t allowed to be when I was married to that boring old fart. Not having to plan for months before I go on a dirty weekend, not having to run every bloody thing through mum’s life-o-meter –  ‘Is it appropriate dear? Does he respect you? Is it really you?’ Damn right it is!

Oh yeah and not having to go round in below-the-knee skirts and long blouses with all the buttons up cause I don’t want to look like mutton dressed as lamb, well who SAYS I don’t wanna look like it!

And well yeah, basically getting pissed in public places and bad decision making….what you said.

So you’re rebelling. Isn’t it a bit late in the day for that kind of thing? Your mother can’t tell you what to do any more, there’s no need to live your life according to her rules, you know. You’re a big girl now!

If we weren’t such good mates from way back I’d come right over there and kick your arse! I’m not bloody well rebelling!

Ok I take your point. What I’m getting at, Liv baby, is that I’ve done the boring, average, respectable guy thing. I’ve been married.  I don’t want another nice guy, I want a guy who’s super hot, revved up, pheromones coming out his ears, oh yeah and he’s gotta want to have sex at least five times a day!  Makes out in car parks, way too busy playing guitar riffs to shave, looks a bit like the guys on the cover of Harlequin Desire, only more chest hair and a huge donger and he’s always up for it.  Get the picture? Only I don’t want to marry him.  I just want to lie there and get done, to be honest.  Anything wrong with that?

Nothing whatsoever. You don’t think this dream man might be slightly out of your league, I suppose?

Fuck you! Stop pissing on my fantasy, bitch!

Yeah guess you’re right, all I’ll get is nerdy music teachers and would-be rock gods.

Look, this is my last chance! I bet there’s a law somewhere that says you just aren’t allowed to do any wild stuff when you’re past 50. So, like, five more years.  Think about it.

There’s no point in ME thinking about it. After all, here I am, happily married mother of one. I have MY life perfectly under control.

I think you’re definitely having a mid-life crisis, Rose. If you were still married, you’d probably be thinking about having another baby, round about now.  You’re not, are you?

Come on get real!  Wasn’t there ever some time when you wanted life to be different?  But how can you be different when you’re stuck with some fucker who expects you to be just the same as you were when he signed up – at least, the same as he thought you were.  Like, I can just see John turning up at the complaints department, ‘It doesn’t say anything about that in the installation guide, what do you mean the warranty ran out ten years ago! I thought it was a lifetime guarantee!’  Screw that!

Anyway it’s not like I didn’t try to make it work. In the early days I made him go out to clubs and bars and live gigs, you know?  He just moped around and said he had a headache and could we go home please, and weren’t my legs cold in that skirt.

What’s happened to me, Liv? How did I get so fucking boring and respectable?

You? Respectable? Come ON! Well I must say he should have known.  After all when he met you, you were drunk and promiscuous – and I mean that in the nicest possible way, darling.

Anyway you know there was – a time when I wanted to be something different.  A millionaire’s wife.  And now I am.  I can hardly complain can I! Lots of people would just love to be me.  All I have to do all day is go shopping for clothes, and get my hair done, and catch up with other women who go shopping and get their hair done!  So, well, there we are!

I’ve been thinking, do you reckon I’ll be alone for the rest of my life now? It didn’t seem so bad when I left, I was so glad to get away – but now I’m starting to get worried I’ll be one of those chicks other women feel sorry for and their husbands say ‘what she needs is a good nailing’ . You know what I mean?

I’m not sorry I got divorced but – it feels so secure when you’re married.  Like having investment properties on the gold coast.  I wish I was you sometimes.

It’s funny, I could have had Steve you know. If I tried. But he’s better with you.  I wish I could make something last!  I’m a fucking failure.  I hate my life. I want a man. I want sex.  Why do you have to be so rich and happy and I’m not? Sorry I didn’t mean that just rambling don’t take any notice of me and yeah I did drink a whole bottle of Baileys before I wrote this. Still there’s no law against writing emails when you’re pissed right?

Rose, you’re not seriously jealous of ME. Moi!  Well darling I have got news for you. The way you carry on about how lovely everything must be in my life is starting to become really irritating.  Let me tell you, it’s no Paradise.  It’s not that easy having money!

It’s not that easy having money!  WTF!  If you wanna get rid of it I know just what you should do, honey!

Anyway whaddya mean you’re not happy? You’ve been telling me for the last month how many damn presents Steve buys you and how you go out to dinner at the best bloody restaurants and buy designer dresses and all that shit.

So looks pretty much like Paradise to me.

Just because one has managed to make one’s marriage last twenty years without mishap, doesn’t mean one has ENJOYED oneself.  Necessarily.  It simply means that I am determined to make it work.  I don’t see anything wrong with divorce but I don’t want to have one.  We made our vows and I am going to keep mine. Marriage is no picnic.

Well fine. I’m not trying to get you to break your bloody vows. I’m sorry I said that about Steve, I didn’t mean it.   But I always thought you were just fine. You kept saying how good it was!

Well surprise surprise, it’s not! Not always. Marriages aren’t, are they.

Yes but at least you’re married, you and Steve are pretty solid, he’s rich, you’re gorgeous and – well actually Liv you’ve got it pretty good really.  Come on just admit it.

You have no idea what my life is like! I get so depressed some days, I just want to weep!  I think, how did things get this way? Why am I doing this!

You what???