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Wednesday, August 29, 2012

I shit you not

Tracey just needed to get out of the house today so she decided to head off to the park.

There were council workmen in the street doing what workmen do best - making noise, making a mess and making the traffic stop and wait. She bundled our two youngest girls into the car and waited to be let out of our drive, giving the blokes in bright orange and yellow a friendly wave as she passed by.

Ten minutes later she was wondering why she bothered when Miss2 came down the slide and there was something on her head.

"What's that?" asked Tracey. It was brown. It was gritty. It was runny.

It was bird poo.

Luckily Miss2 was wearing a hat. Tracey removed Miss2's hat, careful not to get any of the muck on herself, and put it in a bag. Then she took off her own hat and put in on Miss2's head and our little girl raced off skipping and happy as a spring lamb, leaving my wife hatless.  

Which is a shame, because you can't remove hair like you can a hat. A point which was made plain to Tracey when, a few minutes later, a bird chose her head to poo on.

Tracey did her best with baby wipes but the park no longer seemed like fun. "Play times over," she told Miss2.

Tracey didn't want anyone to see her looking like this so it was time to head home for a shower.

"It was awful!" she laughed at me down the phone a few hours later. "There was so much of it!" But, as she explained to me, her day wasn't quite over yet.

Shrinking down behind the wheel, she passed the workmen and pulled gratefully into the driveway. She'd made it.

Back inside she quickly settled Miss0 in her cot and Miss2 in the lounge room before locking herself in the bathroom. Undressed, she reached into the shower and turned the tap and.....


Not a drop.

Turns out the workmen in our street had turned off the mains.

Even as I'm writing this I'm still grinning and chuckling like an idiot :)

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About Me

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Bruce Devereaux is one of the nicest people he knows. When not at work he enjoys reading, writing, hiding from his children and not changing nappies.


His career, and if we used the term any more loosely an e might fall out, has included a gardener, a personal lender, a console operator, a stop/go man (not as big a bludge as you might think but great if you’re into sunburn, abuse and varicose veins), a cleaner of banks and pubs and, for a very brief period, a door to door salesman (until the last door he knocked on was answered by a very scary woman with tremendously hairy legs).


Bruce Devereaux currently works as a forty-five-year-old award winning customer service officer (glass statuette available upon request) for the Bank of Queensland and as a very casual employee for Corrective Services. He likes to believe he excels at both but then he has always been prone to exaggeration.


His favourite colour is green, with a picture of Dame Nellie Melba on one side and General Sir John Monash on the other. His favourite flower is self-raising.

 If you see him around town, call his wife immediately - he's probably snuck out and left her alone with all the kids.


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