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Friday, September 14, 2012

"When I grow up I want to be a ..."

Me as a pirate. Don't be deceived by the grin, I was really pissed off here
because Mum wouldn't give me a real sword or even a scummy kitchen
knife to take to the school dance.

"When I grow up I want to be a cowboy."

I said those actual words. I did want to be a cowboy. I really did.

Oh sure, for a while I liked the idea of being a pirate, but turns out I don't like water - or more specifically the idea of drowning in deep water while being eaten by a shark. Plus, due to a dodgy eye I wore a patch for most of my preschool years and it turns out it wasn't anywhere near as cool as they make out in the movies.

It's not like I even had cool cowboy movies like Toy Story to pique my interest. I just liked they got to shoot at stuff and chew gum. When we were kids the must-have jobs were things like firemen, princesses, ballerinas and football players. But for me it was the chinking of spurs and the tipping of hats all the way.

I asked a couple of my kids tonight what they wanted to be when they grow up - despite fairly conclusive evidence in this house to the contrary, Miss8 thinks babysitting would be pretty cool, and Master7 has his sights set on playing computer games. But as I've now learnt with my cowboy aspirations, you've got to be careful what you wish for: life sometimes likes to make its little joke.

I never wanted to be a banker, that's for sure. Most real jobs don't even exist in the eyes of a preschooler. I don't think there are many kids who at 5 or 6 say they're considering a job as a marketing consultant.

Or, for that matter, a radiographer or sonographer.

I only mention the latter because I had xrays and scans done on my ankle this week.

I've been limping around on a sore foot for a year wondering when the hell it's going to get better and avoiding going to the doctors. But eventually the pain (and Tracey's incessant and increasingly forceful 'encouragements' to go get it looked at) got too much for me and now I know what the problem is.

Turns out I've got spurs.

Which, as I see it, means I've kinda got my childhood wish after all and I'm turning into a cowboy - except my dang spurs are on the inside of my cotton-pickin' boots.

Ha ha, Life. Very funny. No doubt if I'd stuck with my pirate fantasy I'd have lost a leg by now ;)

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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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