There is an eerie stillness pervading my area at the moment. It looks like there might be a storm. The air feels thick, and it's so damned humid. Of course, having just been whacked between the eyes by my 49th birthday, I could be simply having a hot flush. I am scared of storms. Oh, don't get me wrong. Thunder and lightning don't bother me. In fact, I used to love those phenomena of the atmosphere. No, it's just that around this time last year, Anzac Day to be precise, a freak storm cell positively shit itself over the town in which I live, and I'm down the bottom of a street at a very cambered t-intersection, and a lake formed, and it all raced through my house, and I lost a shitload of stuff, and it took ages to replace owing to the laborious mechanics of insurance claims and the sheer volume of stuff I lost. I suppose I'm just scared that this might be a cyclical thing now, and we'll cop another frightful deluge. The atmosphere outside is like pea soup. Not fog. Just really thick. It's put me on edge.
I don't need another fright. I had one the other day. I was cleaning at someone's house, a house where I have never cleaned before. I took this lady grocery shopping first, and we had a cup of tea back at her place. And this was A Cup Of Tea - proper leaves in a teapot and all. We chatted about different things, and we really hit it off. I finally said, with real regret, that I had to stop chatting and get cleaning. She has a spare toilet in her laundry. 'I'll clean this dunny,' I said to myself, and crouched down, wiping it over with white vinegar. I then lifted the lid. And wondered what on earth was in there. No, I'm not talking M4-like skid marks. There was something sticking out from the rim, and my first thought was one of those wretched cages that contain sickly smelling cakes that send a toxic looking streak down the bowl when flushed, the idea being they help clean the toilet. They don't. They look suss and harbour more germs than the petri dish shelf at an STD clinic. But back to this, this object. It was bright green and it wriggled. Oh, yeah. I was face-to-face, well more like face-to-the-horrible-thing's-backside, with a big, green, horrible, slimy FROG!!!
So, I slammed down the toilet lid, squealed like a bitch, and sprinted from the laundry like Usain Bolt. The only word I could manage was, 'Toilet', and I shivered and pointed toward her laundry.
'Oh, you've met him!' she chuckled. 'He lives out there. Sometimes he comes into the kitchen.'
I shakily told the lady I could not clean her toilet. Don't worry, I cleaned the toilet in her en suite, but I'd rather set my hair on fire than go near that spare toilet with that thing lurking in there. And yes, I know my fear is irrational, but we all have our own quirks and foibles, and well, that's mine.
Today, whilst driving home, I heard on the news Geoffrey Edelsten's fiancée Gabi Grecko has been arrested for walking along some Melbourne street in the nude. Seriously, you bimbette, WTF is wrong with you? It is illegal to walk down the street in the nude here, just like it is illegal to walk down the street in the nude in the US, from where you hail. Listen, public nudity per se doesn't offend me. I have seen plays where actors have disrobed if the script called for it, and I wasn't offended in the least. Nude works of art bother me in not the slightest. Attention seeking stupidity just grinds my gears, and that's what this is. Some of these people lately, and yes, I do refer to that old succubus Madonna as well as Ms Grecko, are desperately cooking up asinine ways in which they can remain relevant. If it wasn't so aggravating, it would be sad. Stop walking down Melbourne streets in the nude, you idiot. And don't grace the streets anywhere else in the nude, either. By all means, do a nudie run at a private party, but for the love of God, please stop behaving so jaw-droppingly STUPID.
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