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August 03, 2005
Housten, We Have a Dilemma
Dear Diary
I’m sorry I haven’t started more entries with ‘dear diary’. I know it is traditional, and I want you to feel loved and treasured, rather than maligned and hated, because you are.
Anyway, let’s get straight to the point/s.
We have moved into our new house and it is good. However one feature than isn’t so good is the downstairs toilet. It is also a laundry and the machine leaks all over the floor, plus the sliding door is busted and won’t shut.
So I went in there for a whizz. As I stepped in, my sock brushed a puddle and I realised my socks would get soaked if I stepped in certain areas. I found some dry spots amidst the wet, and planted myself in them. Only problem: the placement of the dry spots was such that I had to whizz at an angle whereby my whizzer was pointed squarely at the open doorway.
I thought ‘I’ll be right, I’ll hear if someone is coming’. Not that I’m ashamed of my whizzer, but I don’t necessarily think it’s something a housemate wants to see me aiming at them as they walk past.
So I’m whizzing away, and lo and behold! I hear someone coming. Of course. The dilemma is thus:
I could keep on whizzing with reckless abandon, social niceties be damned, or alternatively I could move my position so my back is towards the door, but completely soak my socks.
It can take a long time to think about that one.
Sometimes too long.
By the way, in case I haven’t mentioned it before, my ‘whizzer’ is a new musical instrument I’ve invented. I haven’t quite gotten the hang of it, so I’m kind of embarrassed for anyone to hear it, but if I practice it long enough in toilets when no one else is around, I reckon it will soon sound tops.
Here is a ‘poem’.
The Cat’s Horrible Experience
Once there was a lovely old cat
Called Old Mrs Minkins
The name hadn’t suited her when she had been young
But she’d grown into it handsomely
Old Mrs Minkins was sitting in the sun
In the middle of a beautiful road
When along came Henry in his fast sports car
Driving very fast and not looking where he was going
He was especially distracted to see Susan Sarandon walking along the footpath
Moreso because she wasn’t known to occur in these parts
Anyway, he came roaring towards Old Mrs Minkins
And Old Mrs Minkins looked and saw him coming
She tried to leap! at the last moment
Up she went! And up and up!
And up and up and up!
And even further up!
Yes, it was true – in her leap to safety, she had ironically gotten her paw caught in a bit of string that was tied to a rocket ship headed for outer space!
Up she went, into the atmosphere
Until her fur began to burn away
And she couldn’t breathe
Hotter and hotter!
Less and less breathing!
She meowed and meowed but no one could hear her
In space, no one can here you meow
Unless both parties have radio transmitters
Ground control to Mrs Minkins!
But not today
Anyway, it was pretty horrendous for her
Later, after Old Mrs Minkins had been saved (that’s another story!)
She was able to look back on the whole experience and laugh
Because fear had driven her mad
And that, boys and girls, is the story of one very special cat’s horrible experience
I don't know if this a poem so much as a bleak cautionary drama about the dangers of space travel, but whatever.
Good night diary. I’ll keep you posted on how my whizzing progresses.
Posted by Sam Bowring at 01:09 AM | Comments (0)