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Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Ring My Bell

"Time to pack this mess up," I told Miss5 late on Sunday afternoon. The dining table was awash with sheets of paper (including tiny bits she'd cut up into 'tickets'), pens and glue.

"Nooooo," she bellowed.

Now I was there for most of my childhood and I have to say I can't remember EVER yelling at my folks when they asked me to do something. I can remember wailing fairly loudly after I didn't do what they asked, but that's a bit different.

"Is this how you act when the teacher tells you to pack things up?" I asked.

"No, the teacher has a bell," she wailed. Tracey quickly explained they have a bell they ring when it's time to pack things up.

"Right," I said, and ducked into our bedroom.

It just so happened I had a bell in my bedside table. It was my booby prize in a Secret Santa. That the bell says 'ring for sex' didn't even cross my mind. I mean the thing is broken - I've been ringing it for over a year and nothing.

Thirty seconds later I was back in the kitchen. I gave my bell a ring. Let's face it, I was being a bit facetious. I didn't expect it to work.

"Okay," said Miss5 sweetly, and started packing everything up. I've got to talk to her prep teacher and see if she's got anything for cleaning the bathroom. Maybe a whistle or something.

I didn't give the whole thing another thought until Monday morning.

Racing around getting ready for work, I suddenly heard the bell, which I thought was odd because I'd left it on the fridge. I looked over. It wasn't there. At some point on Sunday night Miss8 had grabbed it off the fridge and was ringing the thing in her bedroom and giggling along with Master7. They both thought it was hilarious because it had the word sex on it, even though I tried to explain it was SIX in New Zealand - this argument might have worked a whole lot better if they'd ever actually heard someone from New Zealand count.

Ah well. No harm in it, I thought. Until Miss8 rang the bell again and Master7 joined in the fun and yelled out, "Come on boys, don't be shy!"

I'm just glad I know the silly thing's broken ;)

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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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