When I was little I used to like twiddling my umbrella around like I was in Mary Poppins or some shit, but I’m well aware they can be freakin’ lethal weapons in Sydney.
I’m not giant tall, but lots of people walking along George Street seem to be teeny tiny and I have been semi-beheaded on several occasions.
The worst umbrella assault I have seen was when I was lining up for a bus in the rain recently.
This trendy little spiky haired teenager was in front of me, and a red-haired-toupee-wearing old dude was next to me holding a metal-tipped umby. What the old guy didn’t realise was that every time he stepped closer to the bus, while he was fiddling around trying to find his Travel Ten (I bet it was brown) he was ramming his umbrella up this poor kid’s rectum.
The kid didn’t know what to do, but the look on his face suggested that he was seriously considering reporting the old guy to the police.
And rightly so.
Right now, I would like to report Joel to the police.
About two weeks ago, Joel took me out on a hot date.
We were eating Thai in this incredibly romantic little place. Chatting and laughing away like our house was made of gold, probably angering fellow single diners. It was one of those dates where you maybe suck on the same piece of spaghetti, entwine your arms and drink wine, Joel might have pulled a rose out of his sleeve or put a diamond ring in my ice cream. One of those dates.
After consuming a whole bottle of wine – and feeling warm and tipsy, Joel looks deep into my eyes and says:
Steph: Yeah, it was great. Where does it come from?
Joel: It was left over from an event the other night.
Steph: Oh, that’s nice.
Joel: Yeah, we went around and emptied left over cups into the bottles
And he doesn’t understand my concern that I may now be pregnant to an unknown man. Or at least caught a bad case of herpes.
My lyric of the day: So my label would change my image, I’m a pink lipstick chick called dipstick, This ain’t on my wish list, Oh shit I’m in FHM posing in a bikini,Next to a Lamborghini. Lady Sov 9 to 5