GIRL TALK
Hi there ladies, I thought it was time we had a little time - out away from the blokes – so any fellas reading this can now leave and move on to something a little more blokey. Of course, you can read on, and you never know, you might gain a little insight into we, the ‘fairer sex’ – I rather suspect tho’ that any fellas reading this will already be in the autumn years and therefore probably past caring about how we girls think and operate – after all, if you have managed to get this far, why change?!! We girls know this is how you think, so – bugger off!
I had the pleasure of meeting a new friend the other week in Mataranka – Hi Rosemary! Thanks to her persistence, we met again in Darwin and I think we have made a ‘connection’. This lovely lady mentioned in an email to me, how she was ‘starved’ of female/spiritual company. I have to say, being away from my main spiritual friend, I too was feeling the pinch. This prompted a flurry of email correspondence between the two of us and I don’t know about Rosemary, but I feel much better for the contact and the spilling and sharing of ideas and ideals.
Of course on a much less spiritual level, there is just the sheer pleasure of having a bit of a bitch session about our nearest and dearest mere males. This is of course, universal. I can remember walking into a Vietnamese bakery back home and finding the two ladies there involved in an animated conversation – I instinctively knew (and they confirmed it with many wry smiles and a bit of giggling) that they were talking about men. You know, we share the planet, our workplaces, our homes and in some cases the caravan with these alien creatures, and most of us have really good ones who we love and cherish dearly, but we can never hope to either understand them or really tame/train them – or at least, I think if ever we did manage to do that, in all honesty, we wouldn’t want to know the finished product!!! In fairness, I have to include sons in this category as well, and you know what girls, we were the ones involved in training these blokes, and have they really ended up any different to the older versions, I think not! Sorry boys!
I am now going to have a full fledged bitch session and I invite any of you poor females out there who are feeling particularly frustrated about your loved one, to join in – please participate and have a good old purge – that’s one of the beauties of the comment page you know. You can have a big spit there, and you will feel so much better. There is only one condition, if you are going to say something bad about your partner in life, you must balance it up, by also saying something good – I think that is only fair. I think it is probably also very healthy to have a complimentary think at the same time as you are having a bit of a bitch.
I have to preface this by saying that my beloved really is TBBITW – THE BEST BLOKE IN THE WORLD – so, I dread to think what the really bad ones are like. Doug is thoughtful, intelligent and very very tolerant of my idiosyncrasies and bad moods. He is never ever says the terrible sorts of things to me, that I often say to him. He is sensible enough to keep those sorts of thoughts to himself. Thank goodness. He really is very easy going and that is wonderful. He is manly and independent and pretty much lets me go my own way. It is the little things that drive me nuts.
For those of you in a nice big house, you need to understand that the things that P you off in the home, are so much more so in a caravan – even a motor home or fifth wheeler with all its’ extra space, is still fairly confined quarters and any mess made is in your face all the time.
I think I am lucky enough not to be pedantic about the neatness of the van – if I was I would make his life and mine difficult indeed. BUT... to say that D (D for Doug) is untidy would be a gross understatement. People now find us by the level of ‘stuff’ strewn casually around the caravan. I have long since determined that the outdoors is HIS territory, but this morning, I could stand it no longer and just has to go out and do a bit of a sort out and a sweep. Whilst out there, I thought I would put up my flags. You need to be a caravanner to know about the flags – many of us travelling carry around our National flag and the pennant of our favourite footy team. The footy flags are a great source of mateship or ribaldry depending on the people and preferences. I think D is a bit embarrassed about putting up the Eagles flag considering their lack of progress in recent years, not to mention this current non event – I on the other hand, am a stalwart old stick and think I should support my team thru’ thick n’ thin. Of course, I am talking about a bloke who has no such loyalty at all – this bloke, let me tell you, changes his allegiance, as frequently as he changes his motor vehicles. He has to my knowledge supported the Brisbane Lions (while living in Qld), the Crows (while living in SA) and after much badgering by yours truly, now the Eagles (being resident in WA) – of course now that the Eagles are floundering, he rather fancies Carlton!! Must have snake tendencies, to change your skin that frequently. Anyway, back to the flags, I could find them nowhere – when I was in charge of them, they had a nice little home under the bed, and then I sent them to live in the big purple bucket that lives mainly under the caravan. BIG MISTAKE!! I should never have sent the poor little things to live in D country – last time I went to put them up, they had been migrated to the boot of the van – now that is a place you wouldn’t send your worst enemy to ,but this morning, they were not in the boot. When I asked D where they were, I was told (with typical male assurance) they would be in the boot. When I suggested otherwise, I was told that they must then be in one of the various bags that hold ‘outside stuff’. Girls, this ‘outside stuff’ moves freely between all these bags every time we stop. If I was in charge of this nebulous stuff, it would all be in colour coded or labelled receptacles and every time we moved stuff would go back into its’ own bag. But, no, not my bloke – he must spend more time looking for ‘stuff’ than would fill a month of Sundays. That in itself is bad enough, but girls, you know what happens don’t you? I get pulled into these silly searches too. Its “Sweetie – where is the .....................?” or “Where did you put the ..............?” I mean really, where did I put it? Me?.............Good thing I am on blood pressure medication! So back to the friggin’ flags dears, while I was out ‘there’ this morning, I had for the umpteenth time asked him outdoors, to put the various bags of stuff under the van, so that the ‘patio’ for want of a better description would be clear to walk thru’ and pleasant to sit under. Reluctantly the bags were unceremoniously shoved under the van. Now, the flags? Oh, well, they must be in one of the bags of stuff. Guess what, now WE cannot access the bags, now I have made it too difficult by having them placed under the van – so, I will have to wait until He is feeling more like accessing the bags. Of course, there is no guarantee that the flags will materialise anyway. AND once the bags are removed from under the van, what do you think my chances are of having them returned to an inconspicuous spot underneath– my guess would be “none and Buckleys”.
The other morning, we had a similar situation when we were expecting visitors. D decided that we needed to ‘Fog’ the awning are as there were mozzies out there – great idea. “Where” I was asked, “was the Fogger?” D seemed to think it was under the sink – I pointed out that when I was in custody of the Fogger, it did indeed live under the sink, that was until I passed it out the door, into ‘man land’ a few stops back. It never did return to its safe little home under the sink. At the time, I was involved in tidying up the van, arranging some cake for our guests and trying to make myself look at least respectable. The van of course, needed tidying up due to the efforts of someone to make it look like a receptacle for computers, dirty clothes and grass clippings. Was I about to be afforded the luxury, I mean really girls, luxury, of having time to myself to achieve my very worthwhile goals, of course not -......................WE needed the Fogger and WE needed it NOW! The fact that I would have no idea of where WE had placed it had no bearing on anything. So, now I am involved in a manic search party of ever increasing proportions. It’s a good thing that I am a logical person and am quite good (thru’ much practice), at working out where WE might put things. One of the first things I asked was “Did you check the boot of the van” – “Yes, it was the first place I checked” I was told as his eyes kept darting into the kitchen cupboard, obviously quite sure that I was deliberately hiding the Fogger from his eyes all the time. SO, I abandoned what I was doing to join in the search – I searched each of the bags of stuff, the big purple bin and I even, starting to doubt myself, double checked my kitchen cupboard. Eventually it was found by the bloke, hiding, very well concealed, never to be found again, IN THE BLOODY VAN BOOT!!!!!!! AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! The end result? When our visitors arrived, WE were sitting regally ensconced in a chair on the “patio” whilst yours truly was still trying to comb the hair, make the cuppas and slice the cake. I wouldn’t mind so much if it wasn’t for the insufferably superior attitude that emanated from that chair.
This leads me to the subject of the boot. I ventured there this morning, looking for my poor little flags, and the wonderful musty, mouldy smell that rose to greet my unsuspecting nose was something else girls. Hmmm, damp towels (his cleaning ones not my good ones) all poked into a corner, and underneath a multitude of more ‘stuff’ – what a wonderful aroma that was. I hate to think what else is living in there. My head is only inches away from this at night while I sleep girls, not a nice thought at all. Of course, all that lovely damp odorous jumble makes it almost impossible to find anything there. Do you know, and I’m sure you do, that I know where just about everything inside the van lives? I have no idea which silly bastard it was in history who labelled women as being illogical – there is nothing as illogical as a man! If stuff is put away in the same place every time, we don’t have to spend half a lifetime searching for stuff. As we are getting older, we need all the time we can glean – I resent spending my valuable time, looking for things that I would not have lost in the first place.
So, ladies, we have the “not putting things where they belong” syndrome, that blends and goes so well, with the “its only water” syndrome”. Are you familiar with this one?
This is the one that says if you spill water on anything, it doesn’t matter as it is only water and it will dry of its own accord. This one drives me nuts (a very short journey!). It manifests itself when D is doing the dishes. This is his job, and one which he usually does without complaining. Of course, I hate to complain when he is helping out, but really girls!! D’s idea of washing dishes is to pretty much soak the interior of the van at the same time. Its dip in a dish, scrub well and lift and swing the dish across the inside of the van, swishing as much water as possible across the entire interior, including myself as I sit checking my emails (see note) and then place on rack. Once all the dishes have been done in this manner, then we lift them off the rack, hold them over the floor, dripping all excess water on the floor, and then dry with tea towel. Oh, don’t forget, too, that any residual stuff left on a frypan will come off very well, onto the tea towel, rendering the tea towel worthy of nothing better than a dusting cloth in its future life. WE then wonder why I need to buy more tea towels. Hmm, don’t know really! When this rather watery process is over, then we leave the large puddle of water accumulated on the draining board to dry in its own time and move on to emptying the bin (also HIS job). First thing is to take lid off bin and place dirty side down onto the nearest chopping board, preparation surface or table top!!! ARGHHHHHH! No amount of chiding by me will convince HIM that this is an unhygienic practice. Now, the end result of all this activity, Yes, the dishes have been done, and that is lovely, BUT now I have to dry the floor, mop down the computer which is starting to smoke and steam, re-sanitise the chopping board and all available surfaces and wipe down the sink. After that designate the ruined tea towels to a life of cleaning and find some as yet un-tarnished ones to hang on the stove front. Oh, don’t even go to the stove front and the manner of hanging wet towels with dry ones or the drips dripping inexorably down the front of the oven, which I don’t notice until we have guests, and then see with great clarity what a pretty pattern all those now dry drips have made on the stainless steel stove front!!
Having gone this far, I suppose I might as well go the whole hog and touch on the hand towels. Do you have this lovely problem with your male loved ones too? The way to wash hands, apparently, is:-
· Enter bathroom with filthy hands
· Depress liquid soap trigger
· Rub liquid soap all over hands, making sure that your splashes extend thru’ the entire bathroom
· Grasp tap with manly, slimy, dirty soaped up hand (this is especially entertaining for the unsuspecting female who uses the tap next – the feel of a cold, slimy tap is just wonderful, don’t you think?)
· Wave hands vaguely in the direction of the now flowing water
· With semi rinsed hands, turn off tap
· Look for palest towel in bathroom
· Completely ignore the dark coloured towel SHE has put there for your use
· Gleefully wipe grime and liquid soap off hands onto pretty little towel
· Leave bathroom, and look wounded when accosted by furious female brandishing poor little pretty towel in your face

I did mention the computer earlier – well dare I go there? In a home situation this probably wouldn’t happen, but in a van situation, there is generally only one modem to share between 2 people – girls, this is a very similar syndrome to the TV remote control. Some higher power (obviously masculine in gender) has deigned that men have complete control of Remote controls and modems. This control in the hands of such illogical creatures can only result in chaos and angst. All of this means that quite frequently the only time I can access the modem is while D is doing dishes – hence my reluctance to remove this domestic chore from his watery hands! Needless to say my emails and correspondence pale into insignificance to the important ‘stuff’ that D uses the ‘puter for, like for instance, playing Poker on- line. Hmm.
I won’t carry on about the ‘puter, modem and remote in this issue, but will save them for the next time I feel compelled to have a spit. Combined with that we can discuss moods, moon-crazy, haveachats, gossiping, and general sticky-beaking. All things that men try to associate with us ladies, when all the time it is they who really display these tendencies.
Have you noticed that an awful lot of things associated with these alien creatures can be designated quite well as ‘stuff’ – says it all really girls, goes well with “Well, I’ll be stuffed”, and more likely, “Well, stuff you!”.................................................
Stay happy, stay calm, stay centred and stay together! Love and best wishes – Steph.