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Sunday, April 3, 2016

Carrying on Like a Pork Banana

C is for- Carrying on like a Pork Banana
April A-Z Challenge

I had a bit of a fight with Scotto yesterday.

We drove all the way to Burleigh in the morning, which takes about an hour from the mountain, and then spent thirty minutes in frustration looking for a parking spot. After we eventually nabbed one, it was quickly decided that I would sit under a tree and read the Saturday paper and he and Petal (my step-daughter) would go for a skateboard ride on the foreshore.

So there I was, tackling the delinquent newspaper, enjoying the gale force wind, reading the job vacancies (hadn’t even fudging started on the social pages) and they’ve both turned up, panting in my face with sweat pouring off them.

I just stared at them with my most steely of gazes.

“Back already?” I scowled. “You’ve only been at it for ten minutes!”

“Really?” replied Scotto looking crestfallen.

“Go do some more,” I suggested. “We drove all this way so make the most of it.”

If you travel all that way to go for a skate I’d expect you’d last more than ten bloody minutes.

So off they went, only to return another TEN FUDGING minutes later.

I just sat ignoring them and reading the paper. I really wasn’t ready to socially integrate with humans.

Scotto and Petal both sat watching me read my paper like groaking puppy dogs. It was very irritating.

“So how about we head off to Surfer’s Paradise,” suggested Scotto in a hopeful voice.

Now, I don’t know whether it’s because we’ve had too many visitors lately and I’ve finally reached my threshold of ‘being nice to people’ or if I was just in a bad, malevolent mood, but I cracked a full on tantrum, I cracked a bloody nana. I went off like a pork chop.

I don’t like Surfer’s Paradise much. It’s full of time share peddlers, two dollar shops and those highly aggravating people beeping around on scooters.

We stood in the carpark arguing about whether to stay or go, I felt my temper rising to Vesuvius proportions and at one stage I just wanted to dramatically throw myself under a passing Maserati I was so pissed off. (Have you ever felt like throwing yourself in front of a car when you’re angry or am I alone in this?)

Scotto won the fight and there was a tense silence as we drove up the highway towards Surfers Paradise (except for my intermittent whinging about how long it was going to take to get another bloody parking spot).

When we finally did park and headed down to the beach, we passed a young Japanese couple conducting a full on barney in their native language in the middle of the street.

“Huh. They're probably fighting because she wants to go to Burleigh and he doesn’t want to go,” I huffed in a self-righteous fashion.

That sort of broke the ice and we ended up having an okay day. Okay as far as talking to each other goes anyway. I was dumped by a few waves and almost lost my Oakley sunglasses in the surf and I was cranky about the salt water up my nose thing… but it was alright... I suppose. 

Except, Scotto sprained his ankle in the surf and even though he managed to operate the clutch on his car for the trip back up the mountain he can’t really walk and I have to wait on him now, hand and foot.

Karma really is a bitch. 

If he’d only sprained his ankle while he was skateboarding instead because then we wouldn’t have had to go to stupid Surfers Paradise.