... that's it ! i'm never going outside again !
i had to go outside today. i know. awful !. i didn't want to, but i had to drop my car off to the mechanic. i forgot until a half hour before and had to haul ass in my pajama top and trackie bottoms. my car didn't want to go either. (iris the vw kombi has instincts like a faithful old dog. she just knows).
matters were complicated by the bone-dry fuel tank courtesy of the friend who dropped it back the night before. ah, well. it was only a right turn into oncoming traffic on the pacific highway in peak hour, after all. it was only a semi trailer. and it missed me by at least, oh, a good three inches. no biggie.
ofter enduring the four hundred motorists who kindly offered their support by swearing and beeping their horns at me, i wondered if they really thought i wanted to stand in the middle of a dangerous highway in my pajamas next to my car ?. perhaps they though the collective beeping of horns might make it start ?.
i was finally saved by a 17yo boy who called me 'lady' (and who i'm almost certain strained his groin muscle pushing my car off the road to the service station, but i was too embarrassed to say 'groin' so i didn't ask. imagine a woman twice your age in her pajamas on a main road talking about your groin ?. exactly.).
my husband was supposed to meet me at the mechanic. (emphasis in the supposed to). but he did not !. i tried to wait in my car but they took it away to work on it !. how i endured the sniggering over my 'jemima puddleduck' pajama top i'll never know.
by exhibiting the 'helpless female' behaviours of standing with my hand on my hip and saying and 'oh dear, whatever shall i do now that my husband has forgotten me ?', i had soon secured the attention of a greasy but friendly chap who offered to call me a cab.
i agreed and, resigned to my fate, sat in the 'workshop' trying very hard to pretend interest in a 'street machine' magazine, and trying even harder not to acknowledge the whispering and giggling. just when i thought it couldn't get worse, the yard dog wandered over and peed on my leg !.
then the cab turned up. how embarrassing. jemima puddleduck pajama top, dog pee running all down my leg into my slipper and wishing to god i'd brushed my bloody teeth, i climbed into the back of the cab to spare the driver the pong. he didn't take this well and spent the remaining trip shooting surly glances at me the in the rearview mirror.
(a lone passenger sitting in the back of a cab is considered an act of snobbery in australia. i bet this guy thought i had a helluva nerve thinking i was too good for him after i came out of a workshop in my pajamas and stinking like urine, but for once i was beyond explaining myself).
filled with relief at arriving home at last, i threw off my pee stained pants, ran through the loungeroom tearing off my top, arrived near the front window sans all clothing (except for some underpants so embarrassing they may have made things even worse by being there), to find a female neighbour waving and smiling at me through the glass.
'i have to go ...' i called out to her '... a dog peed on me'. she nodded, held up an envelope she was carrying, said 'we got your mail', put it down on the porch and went home. all without batting an eyelid. (country people !. amazing !).
i am never going outside again. i swear i'm not. within 2 hours my car had broken down, i'd almost gotten mowed down by a truck and had to be rescued by a little boy. i got peed on. i got laughed at. i got the cold shoulder from a cab driver and i flashed my neighbour.
great. if anybody wants me, i'll be hiding under the bed. hold my calls 