After a concerted campaign of shock and awe the Girlie has totally capitulated on the kitchen front and my forces are about to march on the last bastion of resistance.
Her bedroom is my Baghdad.
While timid appeasers claim my “coalition of the appalled” will be bogged in a quagmire of old Michel’s Pattiserie cheesecake, make no mistake, victory will be mine. Intelligence sources say the enemy is in total disarray, morale is low, she hasn’t eaten for weeks.
Actually, I made her a pizza last night as the kitchen has been relatively clean for a week or so. I think the threat of docking her pocket money was what really did the trick.
Now, I’ve been extraordinarily busy of late so I apologise for the slow-down in my postings. But there is something that has been on my mind that I wanted to share with you, my public. It’s not something I do very often but last week I got totally fed up and decided to go and buy some new undies. The old ones were even offending me!
So I head down to Gowings, which is like Farmers but better – actually more like Rendells for you oldies. You remember? The great one up on K Rd with the little man in the manual lift?
Anyway down to Gowings I go, straight to the undie department. Clearly it had been a while since I last shopped for such personal items. Imagine my shock and awe on discovering everything has changed.
No longer do you buy your undies in a range of sizes and styles (small, medium, large, obese; G-string, Y-front, sports brief). You have a range of brands, of course, and a range of colours too. But now, drum-roll, you can specify your “pouch size”. Yes, some dastardly marketing bastard has decided to play on men’s legendary insecurity about the size of their tackle.
So now you can buy “full front” and “double front” undies, specially designed for the manly man, the XYY man, the donkey-boy. So what do you do? What can you do? You pick the biggest damn pouch you can find! A pouch the size of a fucking football for the man who usually wheels his testicles around in a barrow! Find the sexiest little checkout chicky there, sidle up with a smile and a wink …
Alternatively you could go all sheepish and embarrassed. Take ten minutes to approach the same checkout chick and ask, in subdued tones, if they have anything in a slightly smaller size, you know, pouch-wise… Something for the man with a micro-penis.
Just for the reaction of course. Ahh, life’s such fun.
I’ve also discovered a foul-tasting soft-drink that goes by the name of SARS, believe it or not. I bought the last three cans at our local super-market, so obviously there’s a few of us with the same sense of humour. Buy some and give them to your friends.
Anyway, all that has precious little to do with Sydney. It’s been raining heavily for a week. I try and grab gaps in the weather to go ouside but as soon as I do it buckets down again. When I was a kid it was always the other way around. My rain luck has gone.
Unfortunately, the rain, solid though it is, has unaccountably missed Sydney’s main water reserve, the Waragamba Dam where water levels have actually fallen. Unbelievably water restrictions are still likely. I’m convinced there’s some sort of Chinatown thing going on. Might head up there at the weekend and investigate.