An Open Letter To McCann Sydney

Dear McCann Sydney,

It has been some months since your initial call over the interwaves for ‘Australian Mum Bloggers‘.

I, along with half a zillion ‘Australian Mum Bloggers’, dusted off my CV and sent it off, in the hope of one day making an honest buck from what I love doing most (other than sleeping).

I was excited. After all, I loved that you were looking for someone with “proven experience in the online content space”. It made me walk around muttering ‘Online Content Space: the New Frontier’ to myself for a few days. I was even tempted to include in my application a photo of me sitting at my computer, wearing Spock ears and maybe, just maybe, one of those Seven Of Nine outfits that’d make my breasts look like they were about to start their own blog. But I didn’t.

Perhaps, in hindsight, I should have. You see, I recently found out that some other ‘Australian Mum Bloggers’ had already received rejection letters from you weeks ago.

Me? I’ve received nothing. Nothing.

I mean, don’t you know who I am?

For one thing, you might think I’m just some sad pathetic housewife who likes to write about menstrual accidents. And yes, I am that, but I’m also a sad pathetic housewife who dislikes rejection so much that she will try to pass off a bruise on her leg as the image of Jesus Christ. Remember this, McCann.

For another thing, I know people. Important people. Why, one of my friends won a Creative Emmy just the other day (it’s the same as an Emmy except the statuette apparently comes with its own hand-crocheted cover). Although, having said that, when I tweeted about my friend winning the Creative Emmy on Twitter, nobody seemed to care. Perhaps it had something to do with me also tweeting at the same time about my cat splatter-crapping all over the carpet. People were a bit more concerned about the state of the carpet and the colour of the shit than they were about the Creative Emmy. And me, being me, I went and told my friend that my cat’s shit was evidently more interesting than his Creative Emmy so he might not actually be my friend any more. Still, he said he’d let me have my photo taken with his statuette so my plan is to start claiming I’m a Creative Emmy Award Winning Blogger and make all you McCann folk regret having put my McCV in your McBin and missed your McChance with my McWriting Genius. Are you following me, McCann?

But actually, now that I think more on the subject, my cat is probably the most effective weapon I have at my disposal.

So let me conclude this letter by saying this: I have a splatter-crapping arsehole of a cat who will fuck your soft furnishings up big time.

You have been warned.

Yours sincerely, etc.

The NDM

cc. The Age Online. You’re next.

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The Fog

The other day I found myself looking at a woman in the museum who looked vaguely familiar. And indeed, she was looking right back at me – which, if I were a normal person, might have led me to assume that she thought she knew me, too. However, I’ve learnt the hard way that people mostly look at me in public because I am wearing my lunch all over my face.

This time it was different, however.

“It’s [NDM], isn’t it?” the woman said to me.

Somewhat overlooking the fact that she had just addressed me by name, I blurted out “Do I know you or are you famous???”.

Turns out, she was someone that I had met at a party three weeks previously and chatted quite amiably with for an extended period of time.  Yes, only three weeks had passed and already her face and name had receded into the mists of my mind.

Admittedly, I live most of my life in a bit of a fog.  But every now and then, however, that fog lifts and I am suddenly capable of anything and everything.

Why, just the other day, I ventured into the local monster mall with Tiddles “The Enemy Of Shopping” McGee. In just one hour, I managed to buy seven presents and three pairs of school trousers for two different kids at six different shops. And I still had time to buy and eat lunch in the food court – and by “eat”, I mean actually chew and not just swallow. I repeat: all in one hour.

Of course, transporting McGee around the shops strapped into his stroller like he was Hannibal Lecter on a prison transfer certainly helped.

Still, I was kicking goals and I let everyone know it, via the magic of twitter.

However, it didn’t take long for the fog to begin its descent again.

Because I had been so busy showing off to the twitterverse, I was slightly late for the school pick-up and ended up having to park closer to my house than the actual school. And by the time I got to The Pixie’s classroom with a regretfully untethered McGee, there was no sign of her anywhere.

A school-wide search ensued with several members of the CrankyPants family acting as lead scouts, recruiting others as they went. The Pixie was finally located, after about ten minutes, in a far-flung corner of the school, apparently having gone there to “save the environment by cleaning up a spill” (And no, I wasn’t so late that she’d made it as far as the Gulf of Mexico).

Anyway, I thanked the rather large search party for their help and made it as far as the school gates before I realised Mr Justice might not be, as I had assumed by his absence, at that playdate I’d arranged that very morning for the following day.

Yes, you read that correctly: for the following day.

And so I had to spin around on my heels and reenter into the playground where everyone was looking at me as if to say “Who have you lost now?” and I had to admit to my rather large oversight. Another CrankyPants-led search party set off and within 5 minutes, I received intelligence that Mr Justice had been spotted merrily playing soccer on the oval. I was about to charge out there and personally spear tackle him to the ground when MotherOfCrankyPants sidled up to me and whispered “Uh, isn’t [Mr Justice] doing that after-school sports program today?”

“Yes. Yes, he is,” I whispered back, blushing deeply. After all, it wasn’t like he’d reminded me of the fact about SEVENTEEN TIMES that morning or anything.

And as I set off on the long walk back to the car, I took some small comfort in the fog surrounding me. At least it shielded me from the looks of the other parents.

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