Posts Tagged ‘Melbourne Cup Day’

There is a very good reason I rarely wear my halterneck dress. It’s because I don’t have a proper bra for it and going without a bra makes me feel like two jellies on a plate and that there is just one press-stud between me and a genuine “Zapped” moment. 

And yet I wore the halterneck dress (bra-less) to the small “Melbourne Cup Day” gathering at KT’s house yesterday. I guess I figured that, since there were only going to be a handful of close friends in attendance, nobody could get hurt. 

However, I hadn’t taken The Pixie’s Tuesday night dancing class into consideration when choosing my outfit. Normally, I might have let The Pixie skip the class so we could continue making merry at KTs but a recent newsletter had stressed that no child was to miss a class between now and the concert in four weeks’ time. It was italicised and maybe even underlined. And everyone knows that once you’ve italicised and underlined something, it’s The Law.

I also hadn’t taken into consideration the fact that, although my husband drove us all, it would be me that would take The Pixie into the class. Nor had I foreseen that my husband would pull a swifty on me and I would find myself agreeing to walk home from the dance class so he could run some errands. Or that I would somehow agree to take Tiddles McGee with me, too. 

“But hey!” I reassured myself, as I walked towards the hall in my Melbourne Cup finery. “Everyone gets dressed up and has a flutter and a tipple on Cup Day. Why, it’s positively un-Australian not to!”

Well, try telling that to the mothers at the dance school. There wasn’t a wilting fascinator or over-jauntisized hatinator amongst them. And no-one was smelling of wine or slurring their speech or flashing their cleavage in a “Hello Boys!” fashion. Not a single one. It was like they’d all spent the day in a state of active readiness for taking their daughter to the dance class and not done it in an “Oh, shit! Ballet’s on in fifteen minutes” type addendum to their drinking activities. 

I also hadn’t reckoned on The Pixie having a violent change of heart about going into her class. Or that she would cry and cling to me, begging me for “one last huggle” and pull so hard on my dress that I would feel that sickening “click” of the single press-stud at the top of the dress coming undone. Or that when I squatted down in front of her in order to prevent the inevitable next tug from pulling down the whole dress, that she would do that annoying thing where she climbs onto me while I’m squatting, sending us both sprawled on the floor in front of a room full of onlookers, with one of my breasts making a bid for freedom. 


Of course, by the time I’d finally managed to sort out my dress and prise The Pixie off me and into her class, the invisible batton had been passed onto McGee and he cried and carried on so much that I ended up having to carry all 15kg of him all the way home whilst wearing heels and the only good thing about it all was that he at least covered my cleavage. Which is more than you can say for my dress. 

Next Cup Day, I’m definitely wearing a muumuu.

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Okay, okay, so I’m the jealous type. It would seem that one of my ‘faithful’ readers MM is not only reading but commenting on Another Woman’s Blog. I discovered his infedilities when I stopped by this Other blog the other day and found myself scrolling through amusing comment after amusing comment he’d left in response to her (admittedly) hilarious writing. It was like that scene in “The Shining” when Shelly Duvall stops to read her (screen) husband’s manuscript – except that a) MM and I are not married on-screen or off and b) I didn’t go on to hit MM over the head with a baseball bat. Instead I sent him an accusatory email, to which he promptly responded thus:

I’m sorry, it’s not you it’s me.

I just need some…. space to express myself…there were emails and…one thing led to another and the next thing I know I was writing comments. It doesn’t mean anything.



Later that same day, I found myself at the zoo with MM, his wife KC (still determinedly unaffiliated with the Sunshine Band) and their son Master D. It was one of *those* zoo visits: my kids went for the “scatter” approach and kept running in different directions; I’d forgotten Tiddles’ nappy bag at home and lived in fear he’d do a backslider and I’d have to beg a nappy off a stranger (“Spare a nappy, guvnor?”); The Pixie fell into a puddle of someone else’s sick in the Butterfly House; and I ended up having to tie the back door of the Tarago shut with a length of rope in order to drive home. But overriding all of this was the growing realisation that both MM and KC both were just a little enamoured of this Other Blogger. Look, even I’ve got myself a big old girl-crush on this Other Blogger but that’s not the point. It’s just I thought I was the only blogger in MM and KC’s lives. Well, no, actually, I knew already about MM’s long-standing relationship with David Cairn’s “Shadow Play” but I thought I was the only Darker-Side-of-Mommy-Blogging Blogger in their lives. 

But why should I be? The internet is a big place. WordPress alone boasts 4,566,500 blogs. There are blogs out there that get as many comments on one post as I get readers in a week. I’m small fry, baby. A teeny weeny fish in a BigPond (a little Australian-specific joke there… big pond, BigPond, get it? huh? huh?? Aw, come on…). So with all that competition out there, I should just give up on any idea of keeping my readers all to myself (“my preciouses, my preciouses“), and get into the spirit of the Swingin’ World of Bloggin’ where everyone’s reading everyone else and leaving comments here there and everywhere like so many used condom wrappers. 

But, as is often the case with Open Relationships, there’s one person who’s just a little less into the Open part and is just pretending to keep the other partner happy. I guess I wasn’t prepared for how blogging would leave me feeling so exposed. I mean, you’re putting yourself ‘out there’, exposing the inner machinations of your psyche to the internet at large. I often have Lost Days where I spend every five minutes hitting the Blog Stats link to see if anyone is reading my mad ramblings. “Where are you people?” I say to the screen angrily. And then, somewhat pathetically: “Was it something I said?” Followed by a fearful “Maybe, uh, I’ve really truly jumped the shark, uh, and nobody is brave enough to tell me…” (But surely with little gems like that BigPond gag, there’s no waaayyyy I’ve jumped that shark, baby. If anything, that big old shark’s jumping me… hang on, does that work?). I think at the end of the day that a lot of bloggers are like a lot of actors and door bitches – on the surface, it’s all bravado and “look at me, look at me” self-importance, but on the inside they just want people to like them and say that they’re the best. Okay, maybe not so much the door bitches. 

In any case, I certainly hope it’s not lost on people that I’m focusing on Me and My Little Neuroses on this day of all days: Melbourne Cup Day (oh, and there’s that little old election that America, too). It takes a very special person to be able to do that, don’t you think?

So listen up: in the spirit of Free Love on the Internet, here is a link to my favourite US election commentary blog “Margaret and Helen“, purportedly written by two old ladies whose friendship has spanned 60 years and who aren’t afraid to use words like “whack job”, “bullshit” and “Sarah Palin is a bitch”. And for the record, I think “The Bearded Iris” rocks. Read her stuff, she’s good – very very naughty, but good. But, hey, don’t be a stranger – make sure you swing by my little old blog once in a while, eh?

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