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Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Clones are people two

The offending shirt in an offending pose.
"What about this shirt?" Tracey asked me, shaking my 'Clones are people two' t-shirt at me. "I haven't seen you wearing it for ages."

"I love that shirt," I protested.

"Then why don't you wear it?"

"Because it's shrunk." Even as I said it I knew this wasn't the strongest argument for saving my t-shirt.

Tracey glanced meaningfully at my belly and then ever so briefly on my B cups before asking, "You're sure about that?"

We're having new carpet laid in one of the bedrooms tomorrow, which means we've spent the night emptying that room of anything touching the floor.

Given this is the room Miss17 recently moved out of, you'd be forgiven for thinking it should be pretty much empty already. Reality is, however, it's become the family dumping ground for everything from the vacuum to blankets to washing to odd chairs I didn't even know we had.

Naturally, because we're cleaning out this room, Tracey has decided to go through the whole house like a dose of salts, and the first thing Tracey always does when she's in a 'this house needs an enema' mood is to start tossing out my stuff.

Now I would argue heavily I'm not a hoarder but, with the exception being my kids' stuff (especially the little bits of toys I step on, which I gleefully bin every chance I get) I don't like throwing stuff out. I have a shirt I bought on our honeymoon in Thailand. It's got paint stains all down one side but it's survived every cull in the 12 years since I brought it home: mainly because I hide it amongst Tracey's things.

Unfortunately, though, my 'Clones are people two' t-shirt was already in her clutches.

"Fine," I said. "Throw it out."

"You throw it out," grinned Tracey, tossing it over to me. Like I wasn't suffering enough!

"Fine," I said, issuing a heavy protest sigh. There's no point arguing with your gaoler.

"Hey," Tracey called after me. I knew that cheeky tone. She was about to go for the slam-dunk.  When I turned she was pulling out handful after handful of my t-shirts from the cupboard. "Do you want me to throw out all your other shirts which have shrunk?"

"No," I said, defeated. "I'll have nothing left to wear."





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1 comment:

Kez said...

Hahaha whenever we need to have a big clean up at our place, my husband's stuff is the first to go too. I swear that if we had a bigger property, he'd be on the next episode of Hoarders weeping over that piece of crap he found on kerbside collection that one time, many moons ago that MIGHT be useful one day...

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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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