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Wednesday, June 3, 2015

Little Lies

It’s report writing time for teachers and people tend to get a bit tetchy, what with all the added stress. We’re snappier than a float of baby crocodiles at the Billabong Wildlife Sanctuary.

The other day in the staff room, I happened to comment on how well our local football team, the Cowboys, have been playing lately. I like to try to fit in, you know… like a normal person. It’s a hard act to maintain but I do my best.

“Geez, those Cowboys are doing well aren’t they?” I said jovially, looking around at my colleagues.

There was a stunned pause.

“What would you know, Pinky?” quipped my tiny, but vicious friend Kyles as she peered at me dubiously over the rim of her teacup. “You don’t follow the football.”

“How do YOU know what I do?” I counteracted in an equally hostile fashion. “You don’t know everything I do! I love the footy!”
“Well you never come to the games with us when we ask you.” She picked her teeth with her little finger in a taunting, offhand fashion.
“That’s because I don’t like sitting on a grass hill in the humidity with all the bogans,” I countered with an element of cunning.

“And you aren’t in the footy tipping either,” she added, as several people at the table nodded in agreement.

I could feel myself losing ground.

I was outnumbered but luckily the bell rang and I scarpered off to hide in the queue outside the ladies loo.

My friend Kaz, annoyed me the other day too by commenting that in all the years she’s known me I’ve never cooked anything from scratch.

“Chicken wings!” I blustered in an explosion of outrage.

“Pre-marinated chicken wings from Coles don’t count,” Kaz retorted, causing everyone in the vicinity to laugh rowdily at my expense.

So with the combined pressure of report writing and malicious accusations of being a sham cook and phony football fan, I seethed and raged for about a week until finally, I concocted a plan.

When Scotto and I went to lunch on Saturday I insisted we stop off at the stupid Cowboys League's Club so I could buy a bloody t shirt to wear to school on Monday just to prove to all those mean, skeptical people, I do follow a football team.
Not only that, but on Sunday, I bought the ingredients to make a Malteser Slice and clicked on to Bake, Play, Smile.  to get the recipe and actually made it from, you know, scratch! 

I’m in my forties fifties and this is the first slice I’ve ever made in my life. I even bought a special tin thing to make it in.

The base.

I made sure to serve it on a Cowboys supporter’s plate I’d bought especially, just so I could rub Kyle’s little button nose in it.

“See!” I gloated. “I told you. I DO support the Cowboys and I CAN cook!”

Stick that in ya gob!

They must have believed me. The next afternoon when I went out to my car I found it to be desecrated with Cowboy’s paraphernalia. 

Kyles and Kaz just happened to be in the car park when I made the grim discovery.

“It’s great!” I feigned enthusiasm, my heart sinking. “Just what I always wanted…”

“We thought you’d love it, Pinky. What with you being SUCH a supporter and all.” They both wandered off to their cars, cackling like a couple of hyenas.

So for the rest of the footy season I have to drive around with bloody flags flapping around and random observers thinking I’m a lunatic football fanatic. 

Cowboys No. 1 fan apparently.

As if my car didn’t look ridiculous enough already. 

Go the Cowboys...

Do you follow a football team?

Linking up with Grace from With Some Grace for #FYBF