Thursday, February 15, 2007
Stop with your romance and get out of my path
Finished up at work a bit later than usual yesterday and
went across the road to sit in the pub and write some
stuff.
Finished up at work a bit later than usual yesterday and
went across the road to sit in the pub and write some
stuff.
The local here at work is at the far end of New Quay which is a water-fronting, swanky restaurant precinct.
Last night, the walk up the length of the quay was excruciating. There were so many freakin' couples. Many of the lasses were dressed up and looking fine which was good and all, and people were all walking slowly and holding hands and looking at the sunset behind the Bolte Bridge or strolling in groups and everybody was being so conspicuously coupled up.
Norm from Cheers once said: “ah, young love. Never fails to make me sick.”
¶ 11:00 am
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Mr Fix hasn't been game to present me with a Valentine's day gift since our first together, when he picked me a rose out of some one else's garden.....
.....and I lectured him for about 10 minutes on the basis that they'd grown that flower for their OWN enjoyment and not for him to pick in a moment of misplaced affection.
I may have been channeling some one's grandmother on that occasion.
Nah. Who am I kidding? I'm just a bitch.
.....and I lectured him for about 10 minutes on the basis that they'd grown that flower for their OWN enjoyment and not for him to pick in a moment of misplaced affection.
I may have been channeling some one's grandmother on that occasion.
Nah. Who am I kidding? I'm just a bitch.
I take it you're not proud of yourself? When you next see him I want you to tell Mr Fix that Harpo told you to apologise to him.
That is exactly what rosebushes in front gardens are for. What else are they for? That is exactly what they're for. Ptcha.
And this from a lad whose front garden consists solely of weeds, small riverstones and four thriving standard rosebushes.
Apologies are required. This is not only a question of romance nor one of misplaced affection: but also one of expedient utility of resources.
That is exactly what rosebushes in front gardens are for. What else are they for? That is exactly what they're for. Ptcha.
And this from a lad whose front garden consists solely of weeds, small riverstones and four thriving standard rosebushes.
Apologies are required. This is not only a question of romance nor one of misplaced affection: but also one of expedient utility of resources.
Harpo,
I'm WAY ahead of you. I've been apologising for that one for nearly ten years now.
HOWEVER, I do think that people grow roses for their personal enjoyment, particularly people who own their own double-storey homes in North Carlton.
Having said that, I can't imagine giving a proverbial if anyone ever stole a rose out of my garden, as we seem to have nothing but.
I can't help it if I'm an unromantic slob. Hell, I'm even giving Mr Fix car restoration classes for his birthday (although it's possible he does think that is romantic).
I'm WAY ahead of you. I've been apologising for that one for nearly ten years now.
HOWEVER, I do think that people grow roses for their personal enjoyment, particularly people who own their own double-storey homes in North Carlton.
Having said that, I can't imagine giving a proverbial if anyone ever stole a rose out of my garden, as we seem to have nothing but.
I can't help it if I'm an unromantic slob. Hell, I'm even giving Mr Fix car restoration classes for his birthday (although it's possible he does think that is romantic).
Gigglewick — who said romance was dead? I am sure Mr Fix will swoon and go all gushy on his birthday. And maybe people owning double-story houses in North Carlton deserve what the get. (I don't know what that means, by the way… it sort of sounds as though I am inciting theft which is currently a crime in Victoria and also I'm still not a fan of thieves. Gosh, life is full of these madcap contradictions)
M — Ah Norm…
“What'll it be, Normie?” “Just the usual Coach. I'll have a froth of beer and a snorkel.”
“How's it going, Mr. Peterson?” “Poor.” “I'm sorry to hear that.” “No, I mean pour.”
“Hey, Mr. Peterson, there's a cold one waiting for you.” “I know, and if she calls, I'm not here.”
“Pour you a beer, Mr. Peterson?” “Alright, but stop me at one… make that one-thirty.”
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M — Ah Norm…
“What'll it be, Normie?” “Just the usual Coach. I'll have a froth of beer and a snorkel.”
“How's it going, Mr. Peterson?” “Poor.” “I'm sorry to hear that.” “No, I mean pour.”
“Hey, Mr. Peterson, there's a cold one waiting for you.” “I know, and if she calls, I'm not here.”
“Pour you a beer, Mr. Peterson?” “Alright, but stop me at one… make that one-thirty.”
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