Naughty Letters to Ms. Mac

Countless noble souls (and many fluffy kittens) sacrificed their lives during the making of this blog. We think you will agree they were worth it.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Dearest Victim of Online Fraud,

You are honoured to have advised me of your online fraud situation. I am appalled at the shocking turn of events which has robbed you of 180€ and me, most likely of my Christmas present. For how will you now order that Clooney-alike Strippogram you promised me? I was really looking forward too, to having a complete stranger who, really, looks nothing like my beloved Mr Clooney sleazing, sweating, writhing and gyrating all over feminine form my while I giggled helplessly from a chair in the living room, pretending to hate every moment of it. Not that I've thought about it much, you understand.

But back to your pain, if you keep your money under the mattress, will you still have room for all of your pictures of Seb and you know, the other stuff? Please don't even think of selling your body on street corners. I have a vision for a high class escort service for which I need only the best, cleverest and most gorgeous gals. You fit the bill perfectly. "A high earner for the high rollers" is how I will market you.

In answer to your earlier emails, I did manage to traverse the treacherous trail down to the drying room but the sheer effort of coffeeing with a friend exhausted me for the rest of the day. I must remember to stop doing quite so much. I will be burned out before long and then everyone will be sorry. Today I have plans for going for a walk with a friend and past that I am unable to comment. I have no other fixed engagements.

Please give my warmest regards to Mr & Mrs Swan and their brood of teenswans. It seems like only yesterday that the kids were mere fluffy balls of cuteness swimming along in their parents' wash.

Do you really, really wish to know what I was up to 10, 20 and 30 years ago? Luckily, I dug out my old pensieve for this very meme. Stick your face in my whirling silver surface (that's what she said) and prepare for a revelation.

10 years ago I was a mother of three very small boys living in the Western suburbs of Melbourne. One had just turned four, one had more recently turned three and my tiniest was just on the six months mark. I had given up smoking for a few months and consequently, just piled on a fresh new batch of coca-cola and chocolate filled kilos. I had been to see Australia get a thrashing from the All Blacks in the MCG a week before I gave up the ciggies. It was thrilling to see the lovely, gorgeous and manly Sean Fitzpatrick in all of his All Black glory, even though I was firmly barracking for the Wallabies, of course. The Melbourne Harlequins Rugby Club featured very heavily in my social calendar at that time. I was also going to playgroup once a week, ladies group once a week. I was probably taking Patrick to 3+ activity group once per week. I was surrounded by lots of lovely friends. It was a very happy time in my life despite the fact that I was in the habit of wearing the Western Suburbs uniform of leggings and a long top with some sort of flat footwear. The day I bought myself a post-baby pair of jeans, Mr Mac rejoiced to see me out of those bloody leggings. Sartorially, I've never looked back.

20 years ago, I was not quite 18 which means I was probably in the habit of sneaking into pubs and drinking vodka and coke, savouring the thrill of getting away with doing something I shouldn't be doing. I was working at Asda which was Fine Fare before it became Gateway and then Asda on the checkouts. That was way back when checkout chicks had to punch in prices and a man on the checkout was never, ever heard of. I was desperately in love with a boy, a friend who was at uni in Glasgow but who never loved me back- bastard!- and one of the Asda trolley boys who was far too good looking to be real. He was tall with floppy, very blonde hair and classical good looks. He was very popular with the laydees which meant I only ever could adore him from afar and dream about the next time he would help me get a price on an unpriced product from the shelves. I was the least attractive I have ever been in my entire life, although, interestingly enough, I was the thinnest I've ever been in my life since then. I was only a couple of months away from stomping my way out of high school in a fit of rage. I was obsessed with Jean Michel Jarre- so much so that I went to London to see his Docklands concert and Simple Minds. I soon discovered Otis Redding and annoyed the crap out of my sister by playing him all night on a very low volume in our bedroom. I didn't have much respect for the niceties of sharing a room. I had a huge poster of Arnold Schwarzenegger in some sort of army gear on my wall- yukk! Sigh..... I've had enough of the teenage years- too traumatising delve any further.

30 years ago I was a little slip of a girl who was as happy as a pig in poo. I had one sister- my brother had not arrived yet. We lived in Helensburgh on the East Coast of Scotland. I was at St Joseph's Primary School there and my best friend was Mary. We were as thick as thieves. Her name is in Friends Reunited. I was good in school and loved getting up and going to school every day. I used to walk to and from school. I used to play in a play park out of my mother's sight but she never worried about me. I used to wander into the woods and pick bluebells for my Mum, knowing full well that Mum would know I'd been in the Forbidden Forest where there were "Bad Men" but not caring- I just wanted those bluebells. I used to sneak through a hole in the fence of the golf course and run across the green, feeling very, very daring. I used to jump off a wall which was twice as tall as me- or so I remembered- and never once broke anything. My Dad used to collect shaggy ink cap mushrooms with my sister and me and ask my Mum to cook them for him. He used to drag us on hillwalks up Ben This and Cobbler That and take us on long, long drives around the Scottish countryside, to places with wonderful Scottish names like Inverary (which my Grandad used to call Inversnookie) and to Kinloch Rannoch. He also used to take us on a drive along the side of Loch Long which was always a treat. We called it "The Bumpy Road" and my Dad would let traffic pass him, waiting for a while to give them all time to get well ahead of us before he would speed along those humps and bumps causing all of us to squeal with excitement every time the car would lurch suddenly down into a pit before taking a run up to the next hump in the road. Now I come to think about it, it was probably quite dangerous but SO. MUCH. FUN. I used to read Beano comic and Whizzer and Chips when I didn't have my nose in an Enid Blyton book. I used to adore spending weekends with my paternal grandparents on the East Coast of Scotland because it meant spending a whole day with my best cousin, Sonia. I was madly in love with Gary Glitter and Abba and Grease was only a few months away. My sister and I would watch Top of the Pops religiously. We would tie our dressing gowns around our waists with the arms to make long dresses and dance to every song (except the slow ones) while our lovely parents watched us indulgently. Every Sunday my Mum would set my hair with rollers to straighten and smooth it our into a beautiful shiny page-boy bob which lasted all week. I wore red knee socks and vibrantly coloured and patterned dresses with ties at the back. I also wore kicker shoes and pedal pushers and velvet waistcoats and I'm sure I was the best dressed girl in all of Scotland. Happy, happy, happy times.

Gosh, I've come over all nostalgic (that's what she said)! And now I shall leave you to go and reminisce about those happy times (not the terrible teen years) and in order for you to get your morning coffee before you lovingly craft me your morning missive.

With much Pixie Boot love and Pedal Pusher kisses,

Princess of the Forbidden Forest
xxxx

1 Comments:

  • At Thu Nov 15, 06:54:00 am, Anonymous Fi said…

    Ah the leggings! I wore mine with tan lace up chunky boots and socks in matching tones. A comfy fashion if nothing else :)

     

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