Four (4!) sleeps to go until the wedding of my lifetime (always want to write 'weeding', which I guess is rather apt, as I have weeded out a lot of wrongies from my past). Just as one aspect of organising not just a wedding but also a major renovation (sorry, no backtrack; just scroll down aways) comes under control, another rears its ugly head. Stress comes, stress goes. So many waves of stress that I feel like giving up and giving a faint wave as the tide drifts me away into the deeps.
One source of underlying worry, so to speak, has been (mal)lingering for a number of weeks now. It concerns a missing pair of undies. I have been visiting outlaws and own parents over the last couple of months and at one point I've come home undie-less. Yikes! I wouldn't worry if they were just normal undies, even if they were my oldest middle-of-a-period scungies. But these are not just any undies. They are my apple-green boy-leg Bonds undies with the words 'Sweet Cunt' emblazoned on the front in glitter. Extremely comfy, and ever-so nice to wear underneath the straightest of clothes. Not something I'd buy for myself until now, now that I've experienced the fun of secret undie messages. These were given to me as a trade by the fabulous Fairy Shop at the National Folk Festival in return for downloading the emails from their laptop.
Once I realised they were missing, I had to think back as to where I could have left them. With my mother? She could cope, unlike my dad, who would turn purple at the idea of his daughter wearing the 'c' word (but would never, ever admit to seeing them, like the good ex-Catholic boy he is). No, my mum would have returned them with a giggle. With my soon-to-be Inlaws? They are both open-minded people, but also both Ministers of the Uniting Church. Well, it could account for the slightly pursed lips on Mother Outlaw when she came to Canberra a few weeks ago. But would she have returned them?
These sorts of thoughts have been running through my mind at 2am when I wake and can't get back to sleep. Today comes the anti-climax. I pulled down my backpack to start packing for the coast (yay! 3 sleeps to go until we head down the highway!) and when I looked through it (again... believe me, I looked at other times), I saw a hint of green on one of the side compartments. I have never been so relieved to see a sparkle in my life. So what was the pursed lips thingy about?
The best thing is that I can wear them under my wedding outfit. Huzzar!
1 comment:
That is a sweet story. And I hope your weeding goes brilliantly and unpurses some lips.
- david tiley
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