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Thursday, November 22, 2012

The naked truth

"Aaagh!" yelled Master7, stumbling out of his bedroom and into the living room. He was rubbing his eyes so fiercely I thought he'd been squirted with something toxic.

Which was close.

Miss5 had done a bum dance at him. Only as she'd dropped her pants to her ankles, she was more accurately throwing him a brown eye.

"Who taught her that?" Tracey asked me pointedly as I placed my trashy daughter in the naughty corner.

"Don't look at me," I told her.

Because I chase the kids around the house backwards (clothed), using my alias The Bum Monster, I'm instantly responsible for all butt related transgressions.

On a happier, more satisfactorily dressed note, our big man, Master20, is home for a few days. He's staying down the road at Grandma & Grandad's (because they have all the spare beds) but they dropped by here after picking him up from the train station so we could touch base.

Sitting, chatting at the dining table over cups of tea the conversation was somehow derailed from my exciting topic of 'I've got a new coffee machine'. Next thing we were discussing how daytime telly has sex scenes these days, unlike when I was a kid and we had to sneak out of our bedrooms after nine and hide behind the lounge if we wanted to see boobies.

Fortunately, my kids don't have to sneak around behind our backs to get their soft porn fix - it turns out Tracey's seen to that.

"The kids were watching a preview DVD one day," said Tracey, "and the first movie was PG but the second one was a little more adult." This was back when Miss9 was two and Master7 had no teeth. "I was racing around cleaning the house because an electrician was coming over so I put the DVD on. Then, when he arrived, we walked into the lounge room and the two little kids were staring transfixed while a couple on the screen were starting to get it on."

I was horrified. Sure I'd heard this story before but never in front of company, which is always much more fun.

"It's shit like that which stops us winning parenting awards," I told Tracey, shaking my head and looking at my parents for support. Then I noticed the flicker of genuine horror on my parent's faces as opposed to the mock horror I was expecting. "And don't you two look shocked," I said to my mum and dad. "Our kids saw a bit of flesh on the television. You guys gave Shane a live sex show!"

Well, kind of. My poor brother walked in on my parents being amorous when he was about 10. I think it's hilarious because it could have been me with the nightmares and need for therapy. I mean, you can't un-see something like that.

Which is probably the train of thought going through poor Master7's head right about 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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