Sunday, 21 October 2018

Flowers Of Truth: A Story #FridayReflections




Stella stood at the window staring. Waiting. Always, waiting. It was barely past dawn and a dismal wet day. She couldn't sleep. As soon as she'd gotten the text, she'd left the cocoon of her bed. No doubt they'd be back in there very soon anyway. He was on his way.

Finally, irrevocably, he was leaving Sarah. He'd promised to tell her last night. At last, they could be together. No more furtive five am trysts, late night emails, secret texts and stolen afternoons at motels. She'd never planned to become 'the other woman'. It wasn't something you aspired to. And it wasn't in Stella's determined nature to be a pushover.

"It's just that you deserve so much more," her best friend Donna would frequently remind her. Of course she did. She knew that. That's why she'd given Dale an ultimatum. Leave his wife or it's over.

Besides, people like Donna didn't get it. She'd married Gary soon after university. One of those dependable decent guys, and they seemed happy enough. But Stella wanted more. She wanted to be swept off her feet and dazzled. To not settle.

As soon as she'd seen Dale Kingsley it was like a juggernaut to her heart. Every inch of his six foot frame exuded charisma. With his movie star looks, and take charge confidence, he was the quintessential alpha male. In fact, his only flaw as far as she could see, was his wife.

Stella sighed, glancing at her phone. Where was he? It was drizzling after a downpour overnight. The street was grey and sodden, lined with bins waiting to be collected. The lid had tipped off one directly opposite her flat, and an empty milk carton sailed along the water logged gutter. Someone had drawn a crude penis on the lid. She certainly wouldn't miss this neighborhood.

They planned to move to their dream home near the beach. Stella thought about everything as she peered anxiously outside, hoping to see Dale's sleek sports car glide into the street.

Technically, Dale had been separated when they met. He was her boss at the major insurance company she worked for as a team leader. Falling for the boss was such a cliche. Even more so was her belief that it must have been fate. They'd bonded over being the only two tea drinkers in an office full of coffee addicts. Then came the emails. First they were professional, then friendly, before becoming flirtatious. Soon, they were seeing each other outside of work. It was the most romantic, whirlwind, joyous thing.

He hadn't hid the fact that he was married, but assured her they were separated. The strain of years of infertility had proved too much for the marriage.

"I think she wanted a baby more than she wanted us," Dale explained sadly. Dale had been ambivalent about parenthood from the start. Stella felt the same way. She valued other things besides babies. They must be meant for each other.

Then came the devastating news. Dale decided to go back to Sarah, at least for now. His mother in law had been diagnosed with advanced breast cancer and Sarah wasn't coping well emotionally. It wasn't the right time.

Stella had been beside herself, but in the end realized Dale was trying to do the right thing. They tried to stay apart, but it was no use. The fire between them was too intense. She agreed to see him on the side.

To her surprise, part of her enjoyed the thrill of secrecy. They had all the fun and excitement without all the tedious parts of a relationship. Sure, she hated the idea of hurting another woman, but Sarah Kingsley didn't have it so bad. She had a beautiful home in the leafy northern side of Sydney, while Stella was stuck out in the dreary western suburbs in a ground floor flat.

Stella frowned and looked at her phone again. There were no frantic messages. No promises to be here ASAP. This was the bad side, the stark reality of the relationship. The lying, the waiting, guessing, always being second best in Dale's life. No more. His mother in law had passed away a few months ago. It was time to move on with their lives.

Stella thumbed in the words:

Where r u? I'm waiting!!!

She thought of adding something sexy but she was too irritated. Her phone pinged a few minutes later.

Sorry, babe. Can't make it. Will make it up to you. Talk later.

WHAT?! She typed again.

Did you tell her???

Not yet. But I will. Promise.

Stella threw her phone down and stomped to her tiny kitchen. The table was set with tea cups and a plate of pastries. She dumped them in the trash, then slumped at the table sobbing.

The door buzzer sounded startling her. Maybe Dale was here after all! She flew to the door.

"Delivery! Sign here!"

Stella signed, then took in the box. It was the most glorious box of pink blooms with a love heart nestled amongst them.

The message was simple:

Two hearts that beat as one. Soon we'll be together. Love you forever, Dale.

The smarmy bastard, Stella thought. But she felt herself melting. Begrudgingly, she breathed in the roses. Everything would be alright.

The next day she strode into the office, replenished. She'd dressed to impress in a fitted sheath and killer heels. Move over Meghan Markle. People were always telling Stella she looked like the princess. Stella thought it was more of an attitude. She hated being a victim, preferring to take charge. She'd sort things out with Dale. After all, there was sure to be a reasonable explanation. Not to mention, the roses. Stella glowed as remembered them in pride of place in her living room.

Reaching her work station, she averted her eyes from her colleagues. They'd transformed from cubicle hell into an open plan office. An even worse hell when you wanted privacy. She needed to email Dale.

Marita Britton was not to be deterred. She was the obligatory office gossip and chatterbox. Stella wasn't in the mood for her now, but it was good to keep her on side.

They exchanged cursory greetings. "Love your dress!" Marita's eyes flickered enviously over Stella's svelte frame.

"Thanks," she replied, distracted.

"Great news about Dale, isn't it?

"What news?" Stella concentrated on sounding unconcerned.

"He's gonna be a dad! His wife's expecting!"

Shell shocked, Stella stumbled on her heels. Gingerly she sunk into her swivel chair. There must be some sort of mistake!

"Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost!" Marita squinted at her.

"I'm fine!" Stella snapped herself out of it.

Marita shrugged. "Okay, seeya." She sauntered off, leaving a shaken Stella groping for her laptop.

Deftly, she logged on and did the unthinkable. The thing she'd vowed never to do. Within seconds she'd typed the name Sarah Kingsley into Facebook. There she was. A winsome blonde with oceanic blue eyes. She was really real. And more than that. She was BEAUTIFUL.  Stella felt ill, but kept scrolling. Then she nearly fainted.

Sarah had typed a long status:

So this happened! Dale and I are thrilled to announce we're now 18 weeks pregnant!!! This has been an incredibly long journey, therefore we couldn't wait to find out if the nursery should be pink or blue! IT'S PINK!!!!

The final insult was in the images posted alongside the status. Sarah and Dale beaming and a glorious arrangement of pink flowers. The exact same type of arrangement he'd sent Stella.

The same fucking flowers!

Stella read the comments, all of them gushing and congratulatory. Then she gasped audibly at one:

So proud of you, my daughter. Cannot wait to be a Grandma!

Was this the same mother in law who was meant to be deceased?!

Suddenly, Stella began typing as if she were possessed. It was surreal, as if she was outside of herself spectating. She was incandescent with rage, only wanting to lash out, wound, the way she was wounded. Before she knew it, she'd hit send. Sarah Kingsley's perfect pink world was about to be annihilated. Along with her philandering husband.

Stella stood and propelled herself to Dale's office. She didn't bother knocking, storming past his bewildered PA. He was deep in conversation with several other suits. She ignored them, seething at her lover.

"Stella!" Dale looked stricken.

"YOU LYING SON OF A BITCH!" She thundered.

"FUCK YOU AND YOUR FUCKING FLOWERS!"

The entire office was agog. The normally contained Stella Conway was unraveling. So it was TRUE, they all whispered.

"I KNEW it!" Marita gloated.

SIX MONTHS LATER...

Stella signed the contract with a satisfied flourish.

"Congratulations," Kevin Bannister, the head of HR shook her hand. "You show great leadership."

"I won't let you down." She'd done it. A promotion! And not just any promotion. She was replacing Dale, who'd left shortly after all the brouhaha.

Later, she'd be signing yet another contract. She could finally afford her own place! No man needed. There had been a couple of changes for Dale, she'd heard. His newborn daughter, and a bitter divorce.

She felt a twinge of guilt knowing her own part in the latter, but in the end she was glad Sarah had had enough gumption to choose single parenthood over a farcical marriage. Maybe she'd thank Stella one day. Well, that was probably going too far, but good luck to her.

Stella reached her new office and sighed with satisfaction. She spun her swivel chair and let out a long squeeee. There was a tap on the door. It was Marita. Her new PA. Like she always said, it was a good idea to keep the queen of office gossip as her ally.

" Your latte!" Marita handed her a coffee. Stella could never drink tea again.

THE END.

Linking up for Friday Reflections.








Monday, 1 October 2018

Something Anything #LifeThisWeek


Greetings earthlings. It is I, the one and only Ness of Nessville, back to thrill you with the monumental happenings of my grand existence.

For instance, today's highlight involved cleaning out the fridge. This is a phenomenon known as 'living the dream'.

In other news, I also made some beds, folded laundry, patted my dog and cooked fried rice. (Auto correct wanted me to say I cooked friends, but I can assure you I've never done that).

Anyway, as you can imagine, I certainly needed a lie down after all this, to recover from all the excitement. Especially considering that for much of the past week I have resembled what can only be described as a human slug.

A snotty, sniffling, sneezing, snivelling, sooky human slug. This is what happens when your offspring decide to generously share their germs. Rude.

I endured unimaginable suffering for DAYS. Gallons of water were consumed. Copious piles of tissues were disposed of as plaintive piano music moped piteously in the background. Well, it should have been anyway. Sniff.

I mean, I was most certainly DYING from this hideous Man Cold. If I got it from my boys that makes it a Man Cold and therefore dire and tragic. In desperation I turned to my faithful husband, the marvellous Mickey Blue Eyes.

"Can you please get me some Sudafed or Cold Eze tablets?" I implored. Dutifully he set off, traipsing to the chemist on foot. He's one of these people who walk a lot, not a sloth creature like yours truly. Ahem.

He left me languishing in my sluggish state. Some time later I heard a loud clap of thunder. Oh dear, I thought, hoping he wasn't caught in a downpour. Or worse still, struck by lighting. The sky lit up at that precise minute and I shuddered fearfully.

I am prone to catastrophising. Oops. Minutes later I heard the gate clatter and a breathless Mickey Blue Eyes arrived, wet but triumphant. I had my drugs. I fell upon them as if they were cake, my preferred drug.

I am now slightly less slug like. And let me just add that this is what true love looks like, people. Do you understand what I'm saying?

Things have been a tiny bit gloomy to be honest. In a sad turn of events, a friend of Mickey Blue Eyes passed away unexpectedly, two weeks ago, leaving him despondent and adding to a general malaise.

Meanwhile, school holidays arrived in all their glory. This means that three ravenous boys demand food incessantly from the minute they awake until they again succumb to slumber. On the plus side, Mr 17 is keen to cook pancakes quite frequently. Winning.

In the midst of my man cold, I made myself some restorative soup, and I think we can all agree this is fascinating information.

Unfortunately, I missed a planned excursion to the city with my TAFE class. ( TAFE stands for Technical And Further Education for any non Australians playing along). Can't remember if I have mentioned the course, but yes I am doing this for two days a week until December. Then if all goes to plan I will proceed to study for a Library Diploma thingy via TAFE digital.

Meanwhile, I've applied for several jobs, getting a politely worded rejection email from one and crickets chirping from the rest. Is that a thing now? You don't hear anything unless you progress to interview? Oh well. It's all a learning process. I'll get there.

What does this week hold? Some boring appointments and shopping. Then next week I am catching up with some girlfriends for lunch. Looking forward to it! With the added bonus that I should be completely germ free by then. Yippee!





And that is all I have to report. We are perpetual plodders. So until next time I'll be over here plodding along. 

As Mickey Blue Eyes would say, take it easy and I'll catch up with you later. Adios.

What's happening in your world? 

Monday, 3 September 2018

Taking Stock: September 2018 Edition #LifeThisWeek




Making: Beds. I've gotten into a habit of doing so most mornings. Gives me the illusion that I've got my shit together.

Cooking: I made a shepherd's pie recently that was a hit. What else? Hmmm. Toast. Does that count?

Drinking: Green smoothies made with zucchini, kale, banana, coconut milk and a dash of honey. Gives me the illusion that I'm healthy.

Reading: Currently reading Three Little Lies by Laura Marshall. I'm enjoying it even though it kinda jumps all over the place with the characters and years. Prior to this I read an old Paullina Simons called Road To Paradise. It dragged a bit for me in the middle but I liked it in the end.

Also read a non-fiction title: You're Not That Great. It wasn't that great.

Trawling: I wonder why I leave this one in here. I never trawl.

Wanting: A holiday would be lovely.

Looking: For a part-time job. Wait. What? Yes, you read right. I'm doing it.  Trying, anyway.

Deciding: On some sort of further studies to go along with the job stuff. Library related stuff, because that's what I've done before and it suits me.

Wishing: Someone would just jump over the fence and offer me a job. No, I'm not drunk. That's a scenario I once read in a novel. Can't remember the name of the novel, but the heroine decided she wanted a job and BOOM her neighbour became her bestie and offered her a job. Totally happens in real life, right? Any librarians out there who wanna be my bestie?

Enjoying: A bit of RAIN. You know, that wet stuff that comes from the sky? That.

Waiting: For a lottery win. Will be waiting a LONG time. We never take a ticket.

Liking: The roast dinner we had was pretty good.

Wondering: Why washing up can't do itself.




Loving: My family. I think I'm gonna keep 'em.

Listening: To not much of anything. It's quite peaceful at the moment. As soon as I type this bedlam will ensue in ten, nine, eight, seven...

Considering: Shoving the dishes outside in the rain and hoping for the best.

Buying: Groceries. Just for something COMPLETELY DIFFERENT.

Watching: I watched an old movie from the 70s yesterday. The Last Married Couple In America starring George Segal and Natalie Wood. It was really bad. The hairstyles and some of the so-called humour from those times haven't worn well.

Marvelling: At many things.

Hoping: I won't blink my eyes and it's Christmas. *tries not to blink* 😵

Needing: A washing up fairy. Or, you know, one of those new-fangled contraption things people have that wash dishes? Whatever they are. I wouldn't know.

Questioning: How September came around so quickly. *blinks* OOPS. Merry Christmas everyone!

Smelling: There is a bit of a rainy day aroma with a hint of Krispy Kreme donuts happening here. We smashed a dozen of those babies between the five of us. We picked them up on the way back from my brother's 50th birthday lunch the other day. We'd already had a meal, plus cake, but that didn't stop us, because we're living our best lives obviously.

Wearing: Navy track suit pants, a purple jumper and green cardigan. Classy.

Noticing: My feet are cold. I really should put on ugs on to complete my alluring look.

Knowing: The dishes will NOT do themselves. A washing up fairy will NOT arrive. So rude.

Thinking: I need to exercise. And do dishes. Sigh.

Admiring: Mr 9, until he tells me it's creepy that I stare at him.

Getting: Tired. Until I actually get into bed... BOOM! I'll be wide awake.

Opening: Books. Always

Closing: Dunno.

Feeling: Pretty groovy right now. Also, kinda lazy. Groovy lazy is totally a thing. It's like the regular kind of lazy but you have shades on. Or something.

Celebrating: Three years cancer free!!!! Had my girls crushed last week and the results were GOOD. WHEEEEE!




Pretending: To exercise by typing the word exercise. Exercise exercise exercise. Done.

Embracing: Uncertainty. Hmmm. Think I said that last time but it still applies.

End Of Stock Take. 

Later dudes!

Linking up for Life This Week and Open Slather.

What are you celebrating in September?

Monday, 27 August 2018

How I Cope With Stress And Anxiety


Good evening, groovers and shakers! I trust you are feeling fabulous and full of joie de vivre. If you're not that's okay too. I'm here to help.

Life can tend to have a way of cruising along in a satisfactory manner for a period. Until it doesn't. Instead it's suddenly sucky and stressful. Fortunately I've managed to develop a few coping strategies to assist in these testing times.

So I figured I may as well as share them in the ubiquitous random list form. If nothing else, writing lists gives me the illusion that I've got my shit together.

So here goes:

HOW I COPE WITH STRESS & ANXIETY: A RANDOM LIST





  • Exercise. Sadly I dislike gyms and running. On the other hand I'm one of those weirdos who doesn't mind working out at home alone. YouTube videos and a bit of strength training are my go to choice. It hasn't exactly translated to peak physical fitness, but that's not really my goal here. It's my mental state I wish to improve. Worrying about what I look like in active wear won't help me at all. So I don't. That's just me. Next...
  •  Calming activities such as word fill-ins or word searches and colouring in. Preferably with pretty glitter pens. Nice. 
  • Writing everything down. Either like this in list form, or spewing forth a hideous word vomit of everything that is bothering me. Privately. No one needs to read that. 
  • Having a schedule or routine. This takes a certain element of decision making away. Instead of thinking about what I need to do, how to prioritise things and consequently becoming more stressed and overwhelmed, I know what's next. Admittedly sticking with routines is still a bit of a work in progress for me, but a flexible routine does help. 
  • Down time. It's important for me to schedule down time in my flexible routine. 
  • Green smoothies. Typically I would just eat all the cakies, but in the past week I began having a green smoothie everyday. Of course I still have a sneaky cupcake here and there when my mum is kind enough to bring some. It's about balance, people.
  • Therapy. I see a good psychologist on a regular basis. It's hard, but really helps in the long run. 
  • Waiting it out. Sucky feelings pass just like a thunderstorm. And sometimes there's even a rainbow at the end. I know. First I'm mentioning green smoothies now I'm getting all inspirational on you. I don't even know who I am anymore...
  • Recognising the difference between good stress and bad stress. This is something my psychologist reminded me of recently. Some stress is necessary in life, and even beneficial. I'm currently trying to make some changes and it's challenging but will be worth it in the end. So it's good stress. I think. I hope. 😲
  • Recognising that avoidance of sucky feelings will make it worse in the long term. Unfortunately I have had to learn this lesson the incredibly hard way, then learn it again the even harder way. And again, the incredibly, extremely hardest of hard ways. Sigh.
  • Taking things one day at a time.
  • Using mindfulness and techniques from ACT (Acceptance & Commitment Therapy), such as diffusion, thanking your mind etc.
  • Naming my anxiety Agnes and giving her the middle finger when applicable. She deserves it. The b$!&h. 
  • Listening to music.
  • Reading. I really don't know why I didn't put this at the top of my list. Reading is THE BEST. 
  • Practising self-compassion. Another work in progress. But I'm getting better at this. 
End of random list.

And if all of the above fails an occasional bottle of wine and a funnel can be helpful too. Hmmmm. Shame I don't have either! HMPH. 


How do you cope with stress and anxiety?

Monday, 20 August 2018

My Hairstyle History #LifeThisWeek


Brace yourselves for a trip into the worst of 80s and 90s hair. I've shared my hairstyle history before, particularly my infamous mullet-perm. But it's so hilarious it's worth sharing again.

This is one instance when I should definitely let the pictures tell the story. They're very old photos that I scanned and cropped any old how, so apologies in advance.

Long Hair

When I was cute circa 1981 


Perms

Infamous mullet-perm. I was about 16
and it was 1987. That's my only excuse.
Shut up. 

At my 21st. Bad perm. Bad earrings.
Bad make-up. But I did have a good
figure in those days. Sigh.

Poodle perm and weird expression.
Perhaps I was busting for the loo?




Short Hair

This was around my 30th birthday circa 2001.
I was up the duff but didn't know.


The lobster and wine look pretty good.
Not sure about the bowl hair cut.

Bobs


I looked pretty good then.
Is that me? 

Helmet hair. Noice. And my awesome parents.

Bad selfie. The hair was good because
I'd been to the hairdresser.


Long Hair Again 


Ten years ago. I was pregnant
with Mr 9. 


Who cares about my hair LOOK
HOW CUTE MY BOYS WERE 😍


No Hair


2015/16 when I had tit cancer became
a hare krishna. Fortunately I have
a lovely shaped head. So I'm told.


Chemo Curls


Move over Kath Day-Knight

This was the day I went to a club
buffet for a seniors price. Winning!


Silver Fox


Present day.
I let my hair go grey and I DGAF. 


And that completes the cringe.

Linking up for Life This Week and Open Slather.

Which hairstyles have you had?

Sunday, 19 August 2018

A Cautionary Tale #FridayReflections

Good morning, dear people. Or good afternoon or evening, depending on where you are in the world. Today I would like to present to you a (fictional) cautionary tale. Also known as 'Ness Is Very Bad At Titles' (Because I Don't Think It Really Is A Cautionary Tale).

Yeah, that.

Anyway, here it is:

A Cautionary Tale




She cautiously set her cup on the table. Her eyes flicked from the screen to the door. It was time. The guilt twisted inside, taunting her. She jumped when the door opened even though she'd been expecting him.

Panicked, she closed the laptop. He mustn't know.

"Hey babe," Grant was sweaty and distracted, checking his fit bit.

"Good run?" She managed to sound normal.

"Smashed it." He grinned and headed for the kitchen. Too late she remembered her phone charging on the counter. Had she deleted the incriminating texts? Jarred had a habit of sending effusive messages. Especially when she'd just ended their Skype session so abruptly.

Grant drained a glass of water, while she hovered behind him. Then he turned and drew her towards him, oblivious to her distress.

"You're all sweaty," she protested.
"So let's get more sweaty..." he raised an eyebrow then frowned as her phone whistled to indicate a message.

She snapped it up urgently.

"Boyfriend number four?" Grant's lips twitched.

"Very funny!"

She turned her back to read the message. "I need you to go pick up Piper."

Their daughter was safely at her parents place. She could never be privy to such a thing. At five years old, she was far too inquisitive. Not to mention a certified chatterbox. Plus it was a convenient ruse to make Grant leave.

"I need to take a shower first. You said so yourself." He traced his steps back through the living room to the stairs.

The cup. Oh, no.

"On the heavy stuff already?"

"Ha ha." He thinks it's water. Phew. 

Grant knew something was up. She was sure of it. She never left cups around. He was always teasing her about being so meticulous.

Yet here she was, drinking vodka during the day, in a dishevelled house, while ensconced in illicit Skyping. This couldn't go on. She'd have to tell him.

But as soon as Grant left to pick up Piper, she texted furiously.

The coast is clear.

The reply was instant.

I'll be right there. Can't wait!

She was really doing this. All her planning had paid off. She'd fooled him. Later, she would always remember the shock on Grant's face. She couldn't believe he'd never guessed.

"You sneaky bitch," he said. "I can't believe this!"

The stunned expression turned tender.

"God, I love you." He reached to hug her, elated.

Abby embraced her husband. "Happy birthday," she whispered.

"Happy birthday, bro!" Jarred, her brother-in-law, thumped him on the back as all their gathered family and friends laughed and joined in the salutations.

Abby and Jarred exchanged relieved smiles. They'd pulled it off. A surprise 40th birthday party for Grant. They'd been planning it for months via messages and Skype.

"How did you not know?" She asked Grant later. Everyone had finally left and Piper had given in to slumber, exhausted from all the excitement.

"I figured you'd never have anyone over when the place was such a 'mess'." He said, tweaking his fingers to indicate inverted commas. "Well, your version of a mess."

She threw a cushion at him from the artfully arranged nest on their bed. He detested those cushions as much as she loved them. He threw it back, then they were kissing. For the first time ever she decided that all the mess and dishes could wait.


The End.


Yes. Well. Wasn't that cute? For some reason I have the same feeling I have when I eat something too sweet. It's good at the time but then I'm queasy afterwards. Bleurrghh.

I was going to say that the only 'cautionary' thing about it should have been to warn you to have a barf bag ready for afterwards, but I'm over all that self-deprecating crap. Oh wait... DOH.

Old habits and all that... Anyway that's my story. Thank you kindly for reading.

Written for Friday Reflections using the prompt:

  1. Start with ‘She cautiously set her cup on the table.......’ Set timer and write for 5 mins.
Do you have a cautionary tale?

Can you think of a better title? 

Monday, 13 August 2018

Famous People I Have Met #LifeThisWeek 13/8



It should come as quite a surprise when I reveal that I've never met any famous people! Shocking, really. I mean, I live such a glamorous existence. Jet setting to far flung destinations. Mingling with the glitterati. Whatever that means.

I have glitter pens. Same thing, right?

Not really? HMPH.

I guess you could say I've brushed with fame. Or famous people. Depending on your definition of famous.

There was the time I met former Balmain Tigers footballer Wayne Pearce. At least, I think I did. I'm a bit hazy on the finer details. It was decades ago.



I was about twelve or thirteen. We were at some sort of function to do with my dad's work (I think). For some reason Wayne Pearce was there. We were introduced briefly and he shook my hand. At the time I had a bit of a crush on him and was crazy shy, so I blushed as red as my hair.

My brother knew a cousin or something of his because we went to the same school as her. So he happily mentioned this, possessing none of my shyness. My brother and Mr Pearce chatted away for a few minutes while I stood there embarrassed.  And that was that.

Fast forward a decade or so later. I was working for a time in a call centre for NRMA. I took a call from musical theatre singer/actor Anthony Warlow. I was quite starstruck but resisted the urge to go all fan girl. Luckily I am not the stalker type because I knew EXACTLY where he lived. I organised a home insurance policy for him. See? Told you I'm glamorous!

Several years later, we were holidaying in Cairns. With a toddler and a baby. Why let tiny humans stop us? That was our motto.

At one point we were strolling through the airport and a bald  bespectacled dude walked by, smiled at my little one in the stroller, then smiled at me and walked on.

Immediately I thought: "I know that guy!"

A minute or so later it hit me. It was Carrie's gay friend from Sex And The City.  Stanford or something? Him.


Image credit: https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0308606/


I can't recall the actor's name*. All I can say is, if it wasn't him, it was his absolute doppelganger walking through Cairns airport smiling at random babies. Is that weird? Whatever. I'm pretty sure it was him.

Another airport celeb sighting happened at Sydney airport (on a different trip - told you we're jet setters!) when we spotted Aussie rocker Jimmy Barnes at the luggage carousel. A casual "G'day how ya going?" was exchanged between him and Mickey Blue Eyes.

Thus endeth my underwhelming exciting brushes with fame.

I still maintain that I'm glamorous however. You can't stop me.

After all, I recall reading or hearing an observation from comedian Judith Lucy. Something to the effect of how many of the celebrities she interviewed during her time working in commercial radio had nothing more interesting to say than good old Tracy from Penrith. So ner.

Now I'm off to mingle with the glitterati again. Or Tracy from Penrith. Same thing.

What about you?

Have you met anyone famous?

*Turns out his name is Willie Garson. But wikipedia doesn't say if he smiles at random babies in airports... *shrugs*