Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Last week I purchased the ridiculous. This always happens to me in op shops** because, I am, at heart, a hoarder of treasure and almost treasure and possible treasure and then find myself doing an inordinate amount of post-purchase, post-storage-reorganisation, post-rationalisation to the Mr.
In my defence, the acquisition of perfectly new, perfectly sized, perfectly STEEL CAPPED work boots, will come in handy when next my landscape gardener brother asks me to help out on a job. The last time my landscape gardener brother asked me to help out on a job was somewhere in 1997. It was for three days during which I undoubtedly worked like a girly girl but was rewarded with impressive brick hauling blisters and several months of that sort of honest sleep granted to the Absolutely Knackered.***
For fifteen buckeroonoes**** these boots will, damn it, come in to their own one fine day. If I can’t make ’em work with a skirt, I shall lug bricks and pave with the long-suffering brother, or take on a regular playground security patrol, or maybe just indulge in a cuppa, á la the traditional tradie smoko*****. See me now, as I gulp my builder’s tea******, squinting skyward, patiently awaiting an inordinately heavy ‘something’ to fall on my perfectly steel-protected toes...
PS. After a somewhat alarming internet search, in a naïve attempt at the clarification of ‘tradie’ for international readers, it turns out there are more females employed in such work than you might think. Generally and mystifyingly wearing bikinis. Alas, a look that flew out the nearest window, during a particularly stretchy last pregnancy.
* Colloquial Australian term for tradesperson
** Thrift stores
*** Physically Exhausted
***** Tea break
****** Bog-standard black, (absolutely non-herbal) tea, milked and enthusiastically sugared