Want to come with us? We're going to buy a gun?

Saturday afternoon and wet.  We had to go and pick up a rifle that Ian had bought to sort out random magpies and other vermin.


'Why don't you come?  It'll be fun" I lied to the teenager, through ever yellowing teeth.  "Okay Mum, then you can drop me off at babysitting."  Man, she is a planner....

On the way into town it was chatty.  Just the rubbish you talk when you are trying to involve a teenager in conversation.  Most of it starting with 'So.......'  Stuff like....

"So..... how has school been going?"
"ok"


"So.... what are your friends doing tonight?"
"nothing"

"So.... what do you think about teenage abortion?"

"Well of course Mum abstinence  is the best option, but for those unfortunates who find themselves in this situation, they should talk to their mothers and seek the best outcome with them, because Mums know best...."  (no.... not really.....just ever hopeful....)

Yes, all was going well.  We pulled up at a house, so unlike our own.  The neighbours literally breathed the same air, the houses were closer than close and we parked in the driveway.

Ian went in, to do man buying gun stuff.

'Hey look Mum, what is that man doing?"  she pointed to a window of a house ridiculously close to the driveway we were parked in "WHAT IS HE DOING???!!!??"  I looked, I really tried hard to see "where????....."
"Nope" she said," he has disappeared............there he is!  See the pink shirt!  See Mum!"  I saw.  It was not good.

Crips!  I hope that was exercise.  Perhaps a few fast reps of....????,  push ups????  Chest crunchie things???

He disappeared again and I was almost relieved.  No, damn it!  He popped up again, did another set of ?????? and took a rest.

Please Ian, please come NOW, please before pink shirt man pops up again and teenage imagination figures out what may well be going on.....

Pink shirt man disappeared again.  It occurred to me it might not be a pink shirt!!  Oh doG, poke out my minds eye!!!!

Ian arrived back in the car and we did the 'look, look, look, see??, look, see??'

He is so much cooler than us he just went "there?  oh yeah, looks dodgy, bad pink shirt" We backed out of the driveway and he started up the street.

Partial relief - thank doG it was a pink shirt!!!

We drove on.  Out of the street.  Out of the suburb.  Out of their world......

Those freaky town dwellers!

As if I don't have enough strangeness to deal with...................??????

I'm a What??

Yesterday we went to the supermarket and the carpark was moderately full.  I drove in, changed my mind, changed direction, changed again, selected a carpark, saw one closer, went in that direction.

"Mum, you're a very erotic driver!" 

One hand on the steering wheel, the other behind my head, I tried to pull off the model pose, I moved my opposite hip up and down, pursed my lips,  trying to look like and erotic driver.....

"You're weird!  What are you doing?"........ pause, thinking, thinking, what is my weird mother doing? what??.......

"No, thats not the right word is it?"  ......" that means like porn and stuff doesn't it?" 

"Yes Darling, the word is erratic, but thank you anyway.  I think I am a pretty erotic driver too."

All Before 6am!

This morning was a rowing morning and as such we were up before 5am to get there on time.  I had told Alex she needed to do more driving and she went over to get the Rav from the shed.

She is a morning person.

I am not.

Still half asleep I stumble into some clothing, its dark, I don't care, something off my floordrobe.  Can't find shoes- oh well, its only driving.  Don't need shoes. 

Leave house, still half asleep, no phone,  no wallet.  Just there and back.  I'll be awake by the time I have to drive.

We set off and the driving is a little erratic.  We were slow, fast, slow, fast, slow, slow 'don't forget to dip the lights', slow, slower.  We got to a slight rise and a red light.  Stalled.  Fast thinking mother relayed instructions in terse, crisp manner.  We got going.  One other car made it through the lights.

My next waking moment was a close call with a power pole and more instruction 'POWER POLE!  YOU HAVE TO CONCENTRATE'  By this stage I had heart palpitations and my mouth was dry. 

The next corner, we take the curb- it's the same curb that has caught us out before.  I am AWAKE!  We stay in the left lane of 3 and let the cars behind us pass.


They do, we change lanes and follow.  Both cars that had been behind us, one since the red light failure, turn into rowing, we follow.  "Oh, those people have seen your driving this morning"  thinking she would be mortified or at least vaguely embarrassed.  "I don't care!!!!"   .......Yikes, I was just going to give the pep talk about not caring what other people think/say/do.

As we come down toward the shed, there is a hard 90 degree right turn, we drift this corner, seriously, wheels slide, gravel flying, steering wheel correction like a pro.  I clutch the door with both hands and make a silent scream, my knuckles white.

"Pull over here"  Now gone beyond palpitations and into full cardio arrest.  She stops.

"Okay........"  What to say?  Give me words..  "Not so good this morning.  Need a bit  more practice huh??" 

"Yeah. Oh, by the way, we don't have much petrol."

I glance down "Holy petrol producing nations having civil wars!!!!!"  I wouldn't say that's not much!  I would say that's NONE!  It was under E.  Not E for enough, E for Eeeekkkkk!

E for no monEy,
E for no shoEs,
E for no phonE,
E for grabbed whatEver off the floor to wear.

I wish I hadn't looked.  I drove the 30ish kilometres back to my house frantically trying to remember all those petrol saving tricks my Dad had told me over the years, I coasted, I turned off the air conditioner, I tried to maintain an even speed about 90km, I tried not to look down- but still did!

As I traveled along planning what I would do at each stage if I ran out.  The motor kept going.  I made it Clevedon where I contemplated going into the service station I normally use and talking to Akshat or Imran or Pooja to get some free petrol  

"You remember me?  I drive the new Calais.  You call me 'Loarf' (love), I always fill here.  Just ignore my lack of footwear, my old surf T-shirt with paint on it and the unmatching dress skirt with wrinkles, I just need enough to get me home, it is so far under E it has started digging."  My pride got in the way.  I would not beg to our Indian servo boys "here take my watch, I'll be back........"

I made it home.  I don't know how.  I think the car must have been running on the smell of someone elses oily rag.

What have I learned?  Hope for the best, plan for the worst and stash $20 somewhere under the seat!  And if in doubt..... don't look down!