Eavesdropping on Companionship and Good Conversation

http://fpsl.files.wordpress.com/2007/04/352px-thisbe11.jpg

On the train ride home I sat near the doors in that cavity where there are two long bench seats facing each other. It was my mum's birthday today:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MUM!!!!

and so I was carrying an orange and poppy seed cake, as well as a box of lillies.

Opposite me sat a man and a woman. Both were in their fifties. He was dressed in a grey pinstripe suit, a light pink tie, with the tie pin clasped precariously on an uncomfortable slant. The two arms of the tie hadn't been aligned properly and the tie pin sat diagonally with the wider arm of the tie sitting halfheartedly on top of the other.

She sat half turned towards him, dressed in a light pink cardigan, a forgiving skirt and comfortable looking flats. Her hair was greying and ash blonde. She fidgeted with a pair of spectacles which constantly slipped from the bridge of her nose and adjusted her hair periodically while they talked.

I could have been forgiven for presuming they were married. They were after all wearing colour coordinated outfits and their familiarity was obvious. For the entire 45 minute trip, they didn't stop talking once. There was no uncomfortable silence. There were no polite enquiries. There was only laughter, snorting and a shared sense of humour as they egged each other on with fast paced repartee, each trying to outdo the other; both collapsing in hysterics when one eventually succeeded.

I couldn't hear most of their conversation but I so badly wished that I could catch a tiny earful of what was so funny/fascinating/controversal. It was only once when the train had completely stopped, that I caught the woman say:

"See if I was married, I would be so miserable, I'd just want to escape. I truly would. I would feel so trapped".

And then the train started up again and I missed the man's response. But, like a detective who can only get so close, I spied his and her ring fingers: empty.

So they weren't married.

When it got to their stop (which incidentally was my stop), I followed them up the station stairs and listened as they finished off their conversation:

"Okay, see you next time, have a good night!"

They waved and that was it, they went their separate ways: he veered off to the ramp on the left and she walked down the street to the right.

The comfort of companionship and good conversation was all they needed. It was all they expected of one another. And it was nice.

So yummy I could eat it.

http://www.nivea.com.au/products/show/1153

I love Nivea. Affordable, light and smells so good. I use the Face Veil Moisturiser, the Tinted Moisturiser (usually mixed together) and the other Apricot scented moisturiser with light reflecting pigments for the summer time.

My work friend introduced me to this stuff- Rich Nourishing Moisturiser. It makes your skin feel so silky smooth and if my pores could sing, I can guarantee you, they'd probably be trilling sweet nothings to their favourite moisturiser.

Try it and see how yummy it is for yourself.

This weekend the Bike became my Friend.

This weekend was super productive even by my standards.

As you may well know, last weekend, Man from Mars got me my very own bike (hot pink) with wicked flames painted down the sides.

What many people don't know is that the Bike has been my psychological nemesis ever since I was gifted with a scooter from my parents, when I was three years old. I got the scooter, my sister got the Bike. My sister mastered the Bike, while there was really nothing to master with the scooter; you just mosied along with a nice easy push of your other foot.

At the time I considered that my parents made the sensible choice in choosing the scooter over the Bike. I was, after all, notoriously uncoordinated, constantly falling over and forever getting splinters and bindies stuck in my knees. The scooter was a safe selection which was comparable to the Bike in that it had the same wheels, handle bars and bell-- just without the instability.

So, I contented myself with my scooter and considered that a scooter was still pretty special, given that no one else in kindy knew what one was.

I'll be honest though, at the back of my mind, there was always that annoying niggling thought: What was so hard about riding a bike that I couldn't have one of my own?

Eventually I comforted myself with the fact that once primary school was done and dusted, I wouldn't even really need to know how to ride a bike. Everyone seemed to forget about their bikes when there were Nintendos to play and gym routines to choreograph. In fact, I went through primary school and high school happily oblivious to the practical benefits of knowing how to ride a bike.

It wasn't until I was 23 (that's right, 23) that the need to know how to ride a bike dawned on me. I was leaving for Canada in two weeks' time, the fitness nation of the World and one of my friends asked me how I'd be getting around campus and the city:

"I'm just gonna walk! It's such a little city!" I stated. Blase as you could get.

For your information, both Montreal and Ottawa are pretty little, but that doesn't mean you don't need something faster than walking, to get around in a semi-efficient way.

"Nah, don't walk, hire a bike! They're cheap and they have special lanes in Canada devoted to bikes," my wise friend advised.

I recoiled in the realisation that my worldly friend was indeed correct. Canada was Bike City! Rollerblade City! Awesome Landscape City! I needed to learn how to ride a bike! Pronto.

As with most things I never got myself organised enough to learn how to ride a bike before I left. So, in week 2, one of my mates from high school (who by pure coincidence was visiting Montreal) roped me into hiring a bike, convincing me that I'd "pick it up in a heart beat. It's so easy".

To cut a long story short, 3 hours later, I was able to pedal on my own.

With the help of Kind Assistant # 1 who held onto the bike while I got on.

With the help of Kind Assistant #2 who helpfully pushed me off to get me enough momentum to get my arse into gear.

With the help of Kind Assistant #3 who ran beside me for the first 20 metres to make sure that I wouldn't just end up flat on the side like the ten billion previous attempts had ended.

I won't mention how many random members of the public shouted their encouragement as I stacked it attempt after attempt after attempt.

Eventually, I gave up when my jeans ripped at the crotch and I was in dire need of a luxury bike seat.

Since that time in 2007, I didn't dare touch another bike. Until last weekend that is.

Last weekend I mastered the Push-Off. During the week, I got the best advice from my work mate:

"Just keep your arms locked straight and your head up, and pedal really fast".

What wise words indeed.

As I mulled over her advice, waiting for the weekend to come before I could visit Man from Mars and take a turn on my Pink Bike with the Hot Flames down the Side, I envisaged myself doing it perfectly.

My first attempt was a failure as expected.

My second attempt was a little improved.

"It's okay, it's okay, I get it now" I insisted, and Man from Mars took a step back.

Fast push off, arms locked, head up and like magic, I cruised down the drive way for all of 50 metres before getting fearful and falling off.

I grinned, Man from Mars looked a little awestruck (okay, I made that bit up), and I got back up to gimme some more of that bike riding feeling.

Done and done. Bike Nemesis was officially conquered.

So that's why my weekend was so very productive. I learnt to ride my bike. Not only that but Man from Mars and I saw Avenue Q which was so funny, so real and so relevant to my life right now- it's probably one of the best theatre productions I've seen.

It was a stupendous weekend. Maybe even tremendous. And next weekend I'm going to do some more of that riding to make up for decades of lost bike riding time.

Where in a stiletto does the appeal lie?

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I hate shopping for shoes.

It's an ordeal. It's boring. I'm always wearing work clothes when I shop for them which means I spend half the time trying to bridge the gap between my legs and my skirt (hello, otherwise I'll flash the entire planet). I feel awkward, hot and pressured by the sales girls who watch me while I ask accompanying friends/sibling for their opinion and squint uncomfortably at the pint sized mirror leaning against the wall.

Shoe fetish? Yeah right.

Today as I left work to embark on some Thursday night "window shopping" (I don't say "shopping" because I sound more virtuous if I use the term "window shopping". It's a more accurate reflection of what I did anyway; 90% of the time was spent browsing, while the rest was spent spending money) I was so famished that I stopped for Maccas and had a McChicken meal. How impulsive. Normally I don't have Maccas unless I'm on some never ending roadtrip to Canberra and I've earnt my right to be greasy and cheap. Whereas today, there was absolutely no excuse other than: I need energy to go shoe shopping.

I scoffed that down and wandered around Wittner, Nine West and Witchery. Most of the time I just had a look, stared at the width of the base of the heel (5mm by 5mm), frowned at the height of the heel (10cm and over) and contemplated that I couldn't be bothered putting them on because I'd probably break an ankle just turning it over it my hands.

So I just looked, and looked and grew more and more discouraged. The one time I summoned the gumption to try on a pair of wedge heels (Note: wedges are amazing, you can run in them, skip down the street and maybe even throw some hoops) I took off my shoe and realised that I was wearing the festiest stockings I own. Guys wouldn't know this, but when your stockings have been worn too many times over, you get stacks of holes and pilly bits everywhere. It's gross even if you're the one wearing them, let alone a bystander having to endure it being thrust in their blameless face.

Anyway, as soon as it registered that today was Festy Stocking Day, I whipped my old shoes back on and zipped out of the shop in record time. Needless to say it was a very unsuccessful shoe shopping trip and I didn't do my Maccas meal justice.

I comforted myself with a trashy mag and tucked my festy stocking-ed feet under the train seat. Who needs awesome shoes anyway? Everyone knows that people only look at your top half anyway! Right.... right???

When the spin off is as good as the original...

http://images.theage.com.au/ftage/ffximage/2009/05/14/masterchef_wideweb__470x316,0.jpg

Spin-offs of series are generally uninspired and disappointing.

You spend the whole time on the look out for characters that are in the original, but not in the spin off and there's always this lurking sense of discomfort because the show's so similar to the original, but yet weirdly foreign and unfamiliar at the same time. It's sort of like visiting Toronto when you're from Sydney. Same sort of city vibe, different country, not as good. You get me. If you're like me, you don't give the spin-off the benefit of more than one viewing before giving up with a dramatic sigh "It's just not as good as the original" because it all just gets a little too taxing on the brain to try and be "open minded" about this rip off series that the executive producers have decided to make in a bid to spawn a never ending chain of successful tv shows. Grey's Anatomy vs Private Practice. Friends v Joey. See what I mean?

The original always rocks harder.

Like most things though, exceptions to the general rule surprise me once in a while.

Celebrity Masterchef.

For me, Masterchef was the highlight television show of the year. I loved the cooking, the contestants, the judges, the host (big fan of Sarah Wilson: classy), the regularity at which it was on. Everything worked. I thought that if there were ever to be another season, the second season would pale miserably in comparison because the first series was untoppable.

But for the past month or so I've been pleasantly surprised because Celebrity Masterchef begs to differ. Badly. In the best way. Every Wednesday I storm home in record time to catch the last half hour, riveted, while I eat dinner.

Today's celebrities were Wendy Harmer, Alex Perry and Simon Katich.

Simon Katich won with an awesome rendition of Stephanie Alexander's 10 layered crepe lemon passion fruit cake. Alex Perry and Wendy Harmer were pretty damn good as well. Alex Perry was so intense I thought his shirt was going to bust open with all that muscle bulging tension. Meanwhile, Wendy Harmer was like the cheeky but diligent student in the back row- taking it seriously, but having a fun time with it. Gotta love her take on whether she's a good chef: "As a chef, I think I make an excellent children's book author (her day job)."

It's kept enough of the things that made it work in the first place, to make it just as appealing the second time around: the uplifting music that chimes in when a contestant is on the brink of gaining high praise from the judges, the suspense, the slick editing, the lovely judges and the high pressure format. It's familiar and new all at the same time.

If only after dinner could come before breakfast...

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Do you think there's something wrong with me if I spend the whole day daydreaming about what I'm going to eat after dinner?

Like today for example, as soon as I woke up I really felt like salt and vinegar chips. Specifically, the packet Man from Mars tucked into my bag for the busride home, but which I never got around to eating because I was too ensconced in Gossip Girl, Season One, Disc 4- The episode where Serena's brother outs that Asha guy who's using Taylor Momsen's character because he doesn't want anyone to know he's gay.

Anyway, because I didn't eat those chips on the bus, I ended up daydreaming about their salty, tangy goodness for the entire day. I refrained from having them for breakfast because duh it's not nutritious, I refrained again from getting a packet at lunch because I knew there was a huge packet waiting for me at home and so as a result, as soon as I got home, I inhaled dinner faster than you could say "Chippies!", smackerooned my lips together until they couldn't smackeroon no more and at long last launched into those delectable crinkle cut ellipses of crunch that are, salt and vinegar chips.

Come ride wit me on my new Harley D

http://forum.belmont.edu/business/Harley%20Davidson%20Bike.jpg

Okay, so it's not exactly a Harley Davidson, but it's pretty damn close.

This weekend I went to Canberra and to hang with Man from Mars and while it's been on the cards for a while, I've always found some excuse to put off the purchase of my new Harley D, also known as a cute pink bike from Big W. The excuses range from:

1. "I don't know how to ride a bike" (I don't- unlike most kids my parents got me a scooter instead of a bike and as time went by I just never learnt, because my scooter was just as efficient);


2. "I can't be bothered"- bothered to learn, bothered to go out and buy one, bothered to endure the discomfort that is involved in inevitably having to learn in a public park where the entire world would know my secret;


3. "I'm just not flexible enough to get my leg over the bike seat"- this is actually true. I don't doubt that I'm officially one of the least flexible people on the planet, and the fact that getting on a bike involves a certain degree of leg spreading, I wasn't looking forward to the prospect of having to test getting on bikes in a bike shop, only to not be able to even get past that point.

So you can understand why I procrastinated.

Anyway, Man from Mars decided enough was enough and nicely coerced me into agreeing that yes, I did want to learn and yes, I would ride it if he could find a bike that I could mount.

Lucky I said yes because he found a hot pink bike with gears and everything. It even has wicked flames on the side and a bell that goes "ding ding!" if some rude pedestrian gets in the way.

So anyway, I started learning how to ride it yesterday at 6pm in the side driveway that runs down the length of Man from Mars' house. As expected, the mounting of the bike was a clumsy and difficult process- my right leg shuddered up as far as it could go and I just managed to get it over the other side. Bike mounted and Man from Mars coaxed me into pushing off. Bad idea. Legs got tangled, and before I knew it, it was hello to the driveway cement. Gradually I mastered the push off the back leg, and just as I thought I could advance to getting both feet on the peddles, Man from Mars declared that it was 8pm. Two hours?- hell I was having that much fun I didn't feel two hours go past.

Having said that, there ain't no pretty way of saying this, but all that bike riding made my loins (and everything else in that vicinity), hurt. Kill. In fact, I absolutely reckon a new bike seat needs to be designed pronto. Preferably one that isn't so narrow you could cut cheese with it.

Last night I even had a dream linked to my bike riding. It wasn't the nicest dream because all my teeth crumbled and fell out. But when I googled my dream on the dream interpreter, it said this:

"Another rationalization for these falling teeth dream may be rooted in your fear of being embarrassed or making a fool of yourself in some specific situation. These dreams are an over-exaggeration of your worries and anxiety"

(http://www.dreammoods.com/cgibin/teethdreams.plmethod=exact&header=dreamid&search=teethintro)

And it's so true. Probably the main reason why I put off learning for so long is because I was mortified that I would have to learn at some bike riding school or in some huge park where 8 year olds would be roaring past me on their 10 speed monsters.

It suffices to say that I'm having a blast and I can't wait until I've mastered it. And Man from Mars has to get special kudos for being so persistent, patient and making me feel like I'll be able to learn it, even if it takes me the rest of the year. And then some.

I love chicken salt...

http://www.masterfoods.com.au/Images/Product/1_ChickSalt.jpg

with hot chips of course!

Best place to get them is Burgerlicious (http://www.burgerlicious.com.au/)- 2 minutes walk from my work, they serve'em big and chicken salty! Mmm mmm! Gimme some o' that!

Most of the time I don't buy them myself, I scab them off other people because Burgerlicious oh so generously makes their servings too big for one person to handle.

Read more about it here:

http://herecomesthefood.blogspot.com/2008/12/burgerlicious-sydney-cbd-sydney.html

Packed to the Rafters is on tonight!

http://images.theage.com.au/ftage/ffximage/2009/03/30/rhsfeat_rafters_3.jpg

I'm such a sucker for Aussie drama.

Remember the days of the old schoolyard?

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When I was in high school I used to look at other adults on the train and dream about how nice it must be to be finished with school and no longer have to wear a uniform. I considered that 30 years old would be a nice age to be. I would be done with school, done with study and in a nice job with no teachers bossing me around nagging about homework. I wouldn't have to do boring PE anymore, and I would be able to go outside school without a school pass to get a sophisticated lunch from some cute little cafe in that little laneway down the road. Once there, I would sit with my girlfriends and talk about adult things such as work, clothes and boyfriends.

Now I'm 25 and I constantly find myself getting nostalgic about the times I can never get back. I reminisce about primary school, uni days and wish I could go back to Canada where I had the most amazing adventures. I forget that each year of my life was stressful in its own way:

• like the time in year 2 where we were each asked to pick a teacher from all the grades of the school and draw a picture of them. Afterwards, we were required to present our pictures to the teacher of our choice. I chose Mrs Donnelly and I accidentally made her head the size of a peanut (on an A3 piece of paper) and I was so devastated about the fact that her head was so disproportionate to the rest of her body, that I begged my friend to give the picture to Mrs Donnelly. Naturally, Mrs Donnelly loved it and showered me with praise, and in hindsight I decided that I was so silly to have worried;


• like the time in year 10 where I was nervous about going to the school dance because I didn't know how to groove to the music and I didn't want to be the lone wall flower amongst a pulsing crowd of rhythmically talented people. Of course, when I got there, the music took over and I bopped along with the best of them and in hindsight I thought that it was so unnecessary for me to have despaired;
  
• like the times in uni when I left exam study to the absolute last minute and considered my life over if I was to fail a subject. I never failed and in hindsight, even if I had, my life wouldn't have been over;


• like the time when I was in Canada and I spent a large portion of my time stressing about four 10,000 word essays I had to write. I left them all to the last minute and was in such a rage of panic for the final month, that I sometimes wished to be back in Sydney, doing nice familiar Australian study (Canadians are more studious than Aussies, I reckon, that's why I was so stressed). Anyway, I finished them and did pretty well. Now I look back and wish I had appreciated the whole experience more- travelled more, hung out with my international friends more, relaxed a little, savoured it more.

Now I worry about the direction of my career, where I'm going to be in 2 years time, what it is I want from life, when I should buy a property... all that stuff. And yet in the back of my mind, I know that in 5 years' time I'll look back and reminisce about the time I was 25, with no mortgage, no kids, and the freedom to do whatever I wanted to do.

Damn, if only we could all be blessed with the benefit of hindsight right now, we would all be able to appreciate the things we have now so much more.

Sunday after midday should be called Glumday...for obvious reasons

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the second half of Sunday marks the start of Glumday because tomorrow is Monday which means that it's end of the fun days for another five days. Don't get me wrong, I like my job, but it's more the fact that Monday can never beat what came before it... remember that song by the Bangles, Manic Monday? Check out this stanza, it is reading my mind:

It's just another manic Monday
I wish it was Sunday
'Cause that's my funday
My I don't have to runday
It's just another manic Monday

(http://www.lyrics007.com/The%20Bangles%20Lyrics/Manic%20Monday%20Lyrics.html)

Okay, so it's not the most profound thing you've ever read, but still. My weekend went too fast and that's why I'm glum for tomorrow. Here's what went down:

Friday night:

Man from Mars trundled up from Berra in the dreary pouring rain. Joined me and my workmates for some mini burgers at Star City, prior to which I had gotten super tipsy on mohitos and probably made a fool of myself, except that I can't exactly remember. All I remember is that everyone else was rather sober. Prior to that I rode the city streets with my team leader and two guys from work who are officially locked in a bromance, because of their affinity for nicely timed coffee breaks and pub lunches. Anyway, Man from Mars joined us in time for some rock and roll bowling and the guy with the abs won by a mile. I requested bumpers for some radical zig zag bowling, but no one else wanted to so that was that. Needless to say, a fun night was had by all (except for our second in command who valiantly came along despite being struck down with a hacking cough).

Saturday:

Bit of a waste of time actually, as in, we spent the whole day doing stuff, but not actually doing anything. Man from Mars' workaholic friend requested a catch up in Circular Quay (which means an hour drive from my house). Man from Mars agrees, I fall asleep with my mouth wide open, Man from Mars finds this amusing, then we get horribly lost, end up on the wrong side of the Bridge, workaholic friend pikes on us (for yep you guessed it, work), Man from Mars is pissed, (as am I), and does a lunatic U-turn which results in big beeeeps! all around, and we decide to go to Broadway Shopping Centre to look for bikes (I can't ride one yet, Man from Mars thinks everyone should know how to), Glebe for a coffee and China Town for Japanese at Menya. So we do. Then it starts raining and we have to go home. We watch He's just not that into you and find the whole plot rather slow and disjointed. Still, a good day because it wasn't uneventful and in a way it was memorable for what it was.

Sunday:

Wake up, Man from Mars hops on Skype to talk to his Exchange friends, we eat Korean food for lunch, then we speed to Hornsby to run some errands. Man from Mars opts for a spontaneous hair cut and we discover that Cheap Place #1 is closed on Sundays and Cheap Place #2 has hiked their prices up by $4 and is no longer cheap. So we decide to give my hair dresser a go- Korean owned and run and Korean 5 star service. I swear to God korean hairdressers are the best around. Normally Man from Mars requests: "Can you just make it shorter and professional?" and he comes out looking pretty professional but could be better. This place gave him a portfolio and we blindly picked the first picture. He came out looking so sharp, he could've given Beckham a run for his money. I'm serious.

Meanwhile, it was approaching 3pm and Man from Mars had to embark on the long drive back to Berra. So I went back to my room and mooched around doing not much. Glumday reared its ugly head and I've been trying to distract myself ever since.

Brrr, it's cold in here- who put the ice in the atmosphere?

http://www.sumnertn.com/freezing1.jpg

Can anybody explain to me what's happening with the world right now.

Anybody?

Anybody??

It's October in Sydney and it's 17C.

Then there are all these tsunamis and earthquakes going on.

Last month we had a weird dust storm that blew in out of nowhere.

Seriously, it is unreasonable that I'm scared that the sky's going to split wide open without so much as a clap of thunder and rain down hail the size of hamburgers? Because it sure feels like it.

On a lighter note, the team representing New Zealand in the netball at the World Masters Games (being held here in Sydney) were asked to change their name from the "Master Baiters" to the "Master Netters". I'm pretty sure those Kool Kiwis didn't mean to do it deliberately and it was only the overly cautious organisers who recognised this kinky spin to their seemingly innocuous name, but kudos to them, it was a pretty sneaky/masterful play on words at that.

Ouch, how awkward...

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Today the train ride home was full of ouch-how-awkward moments.

Ouch-how-awkward Moment #1:

I found myself staring at this cranky googly eyed middle age man who was sitting facing me, but two rows away in the 6 seater at the end of the carriage. I was being pretty subtle about it too because I was staring at him through the reflection of the train window (best way to spy, I tell you). He was playing on his ugly palm pilot and slurping his tongue around his lips over and over. And I mean over and over. I'm pretty sure my face was equal parts of eww gross and what is he looking at? He looked out the window and somehow made eye contact with me through the reflection of the train window. He stopped slurping and stared me down. Awkward.

Ouch-how-awkward Moment #2:

The guy next to me was watching a DVD on his lap top. It was the Shipping Post. I only know because I watched the opening credits and then my eyes got sore from slying staring out sideways. His phone rang. He paused the DVD. I looked up to see what he had paused on. Two lovers in passionate embrace, mouths wide open screaming in the lusty throes of carnal passion. He tried to shield the screen with his free arm. Too late, I'd already seen and somehow he knew it. We made eye contact and I quickly looked away. Awkward.

Ouch-how-awkward Moment #3:

The train driver misled me and a bunch of other commuters by saying that the next stop was our stop when it was actually the stop before our stop. We all got up, crowded around the doors and when the doors zoomed open, none of us looked too hard to see where we were. Man 1 stepped off, Man 2 stepped off, then I stepped off. "Whoops, it's not our stop", declared Man 1. We all bumped into each other as we tried to get back on the train and apologised to each other because what more was there to say? Then we all murmured that it was the driver's fault for getting it wrong and how could he get it wrong. Then when the train started up again to our actual station, we all crowded around the doors again, with nothing more to say. Sheepish grins shared all around. Awkward.

Impatience is my (second) middle name...

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Sometimes my impatience gets the better of me.

You know those times when you say something pretty inconsequential and the person you're saying it to doesn't hear it the first time, doesn't hear it the second time and only just manages to catch it the third time even though you were talking so clearly, verging on your outdoor voice and making direct eye contact at all times?

It's times like these that I realise I'm pretty deficient in the Patience Is A Virtue respect. In fact, I don't think I even give the person on the other end the benefit of the third repeat, I just inwardly implode, shake my head and declare:

"Nup, I'm not saying it again, I can't be bothered."

Poor them.

Last week, my sister was in the kitchen washing the dishes (remember: running water drowns out 80% of sound) and I called to her from the next room:

"Hey we should watch Julie and Julia!"

She said: "Huh? Watch what?"

I said: "Julie and Julia!"

She said: "Huh? What? and What??"

I said: "Julie and Juliaaaaa!!" thinking that the elongated syllable would enable her to hear me better.

Later, she confessed that she wasn't sure if I would give her the benefit of the third repeat. She said she was waiting with bated breath and was expecting me to internally implode and give the "can't be bothered" line like I always do. In fact, she even said she was relieved when I maintained my composure and my measured tone and repeated it again without so much as a huff.

Man from Mars wasn't so lucky this long weekend. The fact that he's a good 30cm taller than me also doesn't help things. Even when I use my outdoor voice it's like noise doesn't carry upwards. We were waiting in the check-in line for Tiger Airways and I said something like:

"Far out how long is the line"

He stooped down half heartedly: "Huh, sorry?"

I leaned upwards and said: "I said, far out, how long is the line!"

He stooped down lower and said "What?"

Well of course by that stage my comment had lost its oomph because I'd already had to repeat it twice, and so I zipped my lips up and declared that I'm not repeating it again.

Man from Mars promised that he'd listen if I'd just say it once more and I gave him the "Sorry Buster, but you lose" look and we mosied on down the queue.