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Posts Tagged ‘friends who are lawyers’

I have long since been an avid consumer of magazines where “close pals” are constantly dishing the dirt on their famous friends. Some pals! But I never thought in a million years that I would become embroiled in a similar situation. Mostly because I’m not famous and, generally speaking, people really don’t give a shit about who I’m seen flirting with at the miniature railway or about how I was spotted stuffing my face with Popcorn Chicken while parked in my Tarago in a side street – except perhaps my husband, who might want to know why the hell I didn’t buy him any. 

Anyway, the other day, I had The Lovely Tattooed Lady and The Mild-Mannered Lawyer over for morning tea. We ended up having one of those conversations where talked a lot about penises. Even when The MML tried to change the topic by causually remarking how the packaging of Imperial Leather soap has not changed in 20 years, we still managed to get back to the X-rated stuff and some personal stories were exchanged amidst much salacious laughter and clapping of hands with glee. 

The MML was later heard to exclaim “I can’t believe a change-of-topic about soap packaging didn’t work”, possibly thinking we might end up like those people on a Brand Power ad, sitting around and earnestly discussing the latest innovations in personal grooming packaging design. But secretly, I think she was secretly relieved the conversation reverted back to penises. She was obviously just covering her arse, following her legally-trained instincts and all. 

That afternoon, the MML’s status on Facebook changed to “The MML can’t believe she has known NDM for three years but has only just discovered that she went out with a sumo wrestler.”

Whether or not it was actually true, I denied it all, of course. And then, after a few “enquiring minds need to know” comments from complete strangers, I stepped forth to clarify my initial denial to “For the record, I haven’t gone out with a sumo-wrestler during the three years that I’ve known The MML.” 

And then promptly changed my own status update to “The NDM wishes she had some dirt to dish on the MML, who is currently spreading wild rumours about her and a sumo wrestler.”

“You’ll find no dirt on me.” was the MML’s response. I swear she would have written”Mwah-ha-ha-ha” except that she is really too mild-mannered for that. 

And you know what? She was almost bloody well right about there being no dirt. Until MGK stepped up to the mark and reminded me of a rumour our entire mothers’ group had started about the MML. Apparently, she was spotted having sex with her husband in the car park of the local supermarket. Which was one of those rumours that wasn’t based on the slightest shred of evidence but instead born of copious amounts of alcohol and a Truth and Dare game.

Still, it was enough. It had to be enough. I promptly changed my status update to include this tasty titbit. 

“Oh God” was the MML’s initial mild response. Followed by a “I will get my publicist to issue a denial. You can’t believe everything ‘close pals’ say.”

It was all I could do to stop myself from hanging a MISSION ACCOMPLISHED banner across the front of my house. Because, like the Bush Administration’s combat operations in Iraq, it was a dubious mission in the first place and nothing had really been accomplished. But still, there was something somewhere worth celebrating, surely. For one thing, her rumour about me was entirely true whereas mine about her was not. But it didn’t matter. 

It was a little like the end of that book “The Life of Pi” where you have to choose which version of events you want to believe: if you had to choose between believing that the MML had sex with her husband in the car park of a local supermarket OR that I rubbed fatty bits with a sumo wrestler when I was 21, which one would you choose?

No, wait. Don’t tell me. It doesn’t matter. Or so my close pals tell me to my face.

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The recent heat wave turned the Mild Mannered Lawyer’s son (Little L)’s birthday party from a “Super Hero Party” into a “Wet and Wild Party” – although I should stress that any resemblance to the heavily trademarked “Wet’n’Wild World™” on the Gold Coast was purely coincidental. So instead of all the kids sweltering in superhero costumes made from unnatural fibres and giving each other little static electric shocks, they came in their bathers to splash around in the assortment of paddling pools in the back yard. 

There were two main exceptions, however, and both of them were the offspring of my dear friend KT.

Master J –  KT’s son and a child who is truly committed to the art of Dressing-Up (check out his dress-up box carnage in the Gallery of Domestic Godlessness) – was wearing an Obe Wan Kenobi costume and working the party by repeating the line “I am Obe Wan Kenobi” over and over again. “Why does he keep saying that?” Mr Justice whispered to me. I had no answer to give him other than that sometimes an excess of polyester in the heat can do strange things to people’s brains. 

And Cyclone Bella – KT’s daughter – was dressed in what one might have described as “the most darling little white party dress you ever did see” if A) you were inclined to speak like a slightly-unhinged female character in a Tennessee Williams play; and B) you’d managed to see her in the first five minutes of the party. Because after that first five minutes, it looked like this:

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Move over, Miss Haversham!

“How is it at all possible that something like that could happen so quickly?” you might well ask. Well, to understand the answer to that very valid question, you would also need to understand these two things: 

Thing One: the nature of the child called Cyclone Bella (there is a small clue to that in the nom de guerre I have given her)

Thing Two: the nature of my three children, particularly when faced with the delights of backyard water-play.

The minute I saw the state of Cyclone Bella’s dress, I knew that my children must have played more than just a small part in its de-dazzling. And sure enough, when I ventured outside to see how effectively my husband was supervising their water-play, I was faced with quite a sight. 

If anything, my children are industrious little creatures. They had quickly teamed together to systematically empty the water from the paddling pools onto the lawn, but at the same time were mindful to replace that water with dirt. So soon they had reached a happy equilibrium where the pool water was as muddy as the ground. And they had also saved me the trouble of applying any further sunscreen to them by lathering themselves with said mud as well. Such thoughtful children. 

And my husband? Well, let’s just say that I think he – along with the other dads out there – might have seen his brief as backyard supervisor as primarily ensuring that nobody drowned and was therefore regarding anything else as unavoidable collateral damage. 

And the MML? Well, when she wandered outside a few minutes later, I was surprised (and relieved) by how calm and gracious she was about my children aerating her lawn with all that water and their little prehensile toes. But she did request, somewhat wisely, that we all leave the premises via the side gate rather than leave a trail of mud and destruction through the house. 

“Will this be blogged about?” she asked, sitting down next to me. I couldn’t tell if she thought that would be a good or a bad thing, so I kept my answer deliberately noncommittal. 

“Not sure,” I said, shrugging nonchalantly all relaxed and casual-like, as if my children weren’t in the middle of destroying her garden. “Depends on whether or not I find anything amusing about this.”

And all the while I was thinking to myself that the only amusing thing I could find was that, for once, it wasn’t my lawn that the kids were destroying. But I kept that to myself, thinking the MML might not see the joke and, by simply shifting positions slightly in her seat, start legal proceedings against me. Those lawyers, no matter how mild-mannered they may appear to be on the surface, are like that.

And it’s not as if I’m not already in enough trouble with the MML, considering that I accused her of “shit-stirring” in a recent post (see “We Got Ourselves a Cake-Off!“). But considering the end result of Little L’s birthday party, I might have to upgrade that allegation to “mud-raking”, wouldn’t you say? Oh, I do knock myself out with my own funnies sometimes, I really do.

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