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Sunday, November 4, 2012

Return of The Mac

Blunt is something of an art form around here, and it's good to know we're passing it on to the kiddies.


For years, Grandma Mac has been the families title holder for Queen of Blunt. A spade is a damn silly looking bloody spade with this ol' girl. She's a genuine pleasure to converse with, but thinks nothing of knocking you down a peg or three if she believes it's warranted. 

Late last year I was in the paper because there was a panic about fake $10 notes circulating in G-town and they wanted a photo of someone holding some notes up for the article. Naturally, I threw myself in front of the camera the moment the reporter came into the branch. That Saturday I got a phone call from Tracey's grandma, Grandma Mac, after she spotted me front and centre-ish on page 15.

Me, looking ridiculous.
"You're in the paper," she said to me. Of course, this was no surprise because I was there when they took the picture.

"Oh, they put it in today's, did they?" I said casually. "How do I look? Gorgeous?" Hey, I can dream.

But Grandma Mac isn't known for pandering to bullshit. 

"You look ridiculous," she told me. "You should be embarrassed." And I'm down a peg, where I belong.

But, to be honest, The Mac has been a bit quiet since then.

Still, it seems a new generation of straight talkers is coming through. This morning I was racing around the house picking up all the clothes and toys which seem to spontaneously erupt from my children's wardrobes when my back is turned, when I decided I needed to have a shower. I'd only taken off my shirt and tossed it in the wash when I received a different set of instructions from Miss2 - she'd decided she wanted toast. Now. 

I popped some bread into the toaster and decided to start the dishes while I was waiting for it to cook, when all of a sudden there was an indignant yelp from behind me.

"Put a shirt on!" demanded Miss5. "You're nudie rudie!" 

"It's okay," I told her."I'm a man. Men are allowed to have no top on. Women only wear a top because they have boobies."

She cast a calculated look over me. "You've GOT boobies," she informed me.

"No, I haven't got boobies, I've got pecs," I lied. "And anyway, I'm going to have a shower in a minute."

Again, there was a pause while she thought about this. "Okay, but you're not allowed to go outside." 

Yes, because heaven help us if the neighbours saw. Actually the real concern would probably be the drivers - the reflection off my lily white torso might cause an accident.

But as blunt as this was, it wasn't the bluntest thing said today by members of our extended family - the last word must once again go to the wonderful Grandma Mac, the reigning Queen of Blunt, who was chatting with Tracey's sister, Belinda, this afternoon.

After a lengthy conversation, Belinda was bidding Grandma Mac farewell with the rather nice sentiment, "I can't wait to give you a big fat squeeze."

"Yes," said Grandma Mac accusingly, "you have put on a lot of weight since you've left Weight Watchers."

Look out, people, The Mac is back!



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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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