Kill All The Fairies

 

So I’m at an eight year old’s birthday party. Kiddies parties are just a glorified war zone of cake, colours, noise and hyper happiness.

It’s horrible.

Also, a small problem.

It all began with this announcement, “We are about to cut the cake.”

“Time to cut the cake! Remember to scream before it hits the bottom.” Screamed the hordes.

“Hang on, hang on, more screaming? Why? My ears are already bleeding.” I respond.

 Kids don’t talk at parties: they yell at one another, at maximum volume. 

“If we don’t scream, the fairies will die.”

“What?”

“The fairies that live under the cake.”

“There are fairies under the cake?” Seriously, what are we teaching kids today.

  “Yessum, we have to scream to let them know the knife is coming, so the fairies can fly away.”

“Why don’t we just tell them – look, I’ll text them. I have Tinkerbell on speed-dial.” I pull out my phone.

Guess what this kid says to me, “Don’t be ridiculous. Tinkerbell doesn’t have an iPhone.”

Dude, you’re the one that believes that fairies living under a cake. 

“Well upstart, it’s a well-known fact they live in condos, made out of teeth, which fall out of your delightful little mouth.”

“No they don’t. They live under cakes.”

“Let me get this straight. So fairies now live under cakes. Must have been the GFC.”

“Huh?”

“Global Fairy Crisis.” Yeah, not so smart now, Yes, I am actually having this conversation. “Let me get this right: This cake has been in the oven, so the fairies withstand high heat, and they are currently living under the cake – that’s enormous pressure, but fairies can’t dodge the knife?”

“Yes. You got it!” The kids grinned up at me.

“Wow. I know so little about fairies. I’ll have to Google them when I get home. I hope there is a wiki entry.” Yes, I’m serious. “Sorry, I’m holding up proceedings. I just needed to understand the reasoning behind screaming at the cutting of the cake.” Really, this is just another opportunity to scream their little heads off, so, if you can’t beat ‘em may as well join ’em.

“TINKERBELL! EVACUATE! GET OUT WHILE YOU CAAAAAAAANNNN!!!!!!!!”

One of the kids patted me on the arm to console me. “It’s over, they are all safe now.”

“Oh thank God! It was touch & go with ole Tinkers there.”

 

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I am ‘Rookie Of the Year’

 I have a trophy to prove it!

 

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P.S The tee shirt says: 

 Always Be Yourself… unless you can be BATMAN,

then always be BATMAN.

 

Scored that humorous tee from Snorg tees – check them out http://goo.gl/OE58yj

 

I scored the trophy for being an awesome trainee audio assistant for the TRF Talk Radio ( I really am hopeless… but cheery and enthusiastic).

 

TRF Talk Radio is awesome –

if you ever wondered about God but didn’t want to

go to church, then tune in here for free:

Check out TRF Talk Radio here http://www.trftalkradio.com

 

Good News! Scored A Regular Spot On The Radio

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I usually visit ABC radio once a month to join three other panellists to discuss the weekly news.

All that day I am insufferable. I go into celebrity mode and make all sorts of diva demands: “Someone fetch me a latte” ( I don’t actually like lattes). Also, I expect the red carpet rolled out wherever I go and wonder why the paparazzi are not flocking around me snapping my every movement.

But now I have a better gig. Meghan from ABC radio asked me to join a fortnightly panel to discuss women’s issues. Ladies talk on the radio – I’m sure we could pull five listeners for our riveting oestrogen fuelled conversations.

Anyhoo, every fortnightly Thursday at 4.30pm, I’m going to sneak away from work and go into celebrity mode. If you’re in Australia and can pick up ABC Regional 684 am, tune in and listen to my dulcet tones ramble on about issues I know nothing about, but I say expertly and in an entirely convincing manner.

The Horribliest Kid Ever

It’s a long one peeps, grab a coffee & cake… and some biscuits.

So I’m visiting my brother and my 3 little nephews and they had a little friend over to play. Her head is covered in thick blonde curls that boing into her big blue eyes whenever she walks. She has a cute little button nose that is covered in a smattering of freckles and when she smiles, it’s like the sun appears and everything becomes bright and sunny. She is so cute…

 

But she’s the devil.

 

I keep an eye on her because I know what she’s like. I still can’t understand how something that cute can be such a villain. This particular day – it’s biz as usual for her. She’s pinching her little baby brother and watching him cry. She does it for fun. Little freak. She does it again & baby cries louder. Now the mother rushes over. She has long wild hair, wearing a dress made out of hemp, probably left over from the slab she had been smoking the night before. Earth mother swoops in and soothes howling baby: “Why is baby Simon crying?” Really. You have to ask that? You live with the future felon (surely she’d have some clue). Devil girl shakes her golden hair and opens her big blue eyes and says in the most convincingly innocent manner: “I don’t know, Mummy.”

 

Yeah you do, you little rat.

Mummy turns her back to leave and Little Miss Demon reaches out to pinch him, but Mum turns around and catches her. So Mummy does have a clue. “We don’t hurt the people we love.”  So what does the little demon do? Hovers her hand over baby brother’s chubby little arm and threatens to do it in front of her mother.

Mummy responds with: “Now I’m going to count to 3.”

Demon girl’s blue eyes narrow. We have a stand off people.

Mummy counts down:

3, 2, hmm..

Come on Mummy, get to 1 & wack her one. Bam. That’ll Teach her.

Mummy: 1… and a ½

 C’mon Mummy, man up! No halvsies!

I mutter: “Just give the girl a backhander and be done with it.”

Earth Mother responds: “We don’t advocate physical contact. No smacking here, no, no, no, we’re all about, praise, positive reinforcement and gentle admonition.”

Good luck with that.

And look at what praise has produced: prada bag wearing, baby chino sipping, mac munching, upstartin’, iPhoning, glitter nail polish wearing, pampered prissy divas.

 

And that’s just the boys, don’t get me started on the girls

 

Mummy slides into the negative scale as Demon girls rushes out the back door.

I go into protective detail and exit back door to locate my nephews. One at 12, 2 at 3 oclock. And the Little Blonde Satan is moving in closer.

I creep to the side garden and make a pretence of weeding. Straight off, she lifts up her fist and goes to bop the youngest. I can almost hear; “An ally has been slain.” So I yell, “Oi, you golden haired little demon, here, we don’t punch one another in the face.” She poked her tongue out at me and then stuck the rude finger up at me. What could I do? I mimed a garrotting back to her. Unfortunately her mother was in the kitchen and saw me.

I’m done for! Soon I’ll feel the wrath of Earth Mother

 

So I run over to demon child, as mummy storms through kitchen, through the living room, to the back door – buying me those precious moments to come up with a plan: “Listen, you’re going to smile & nod your little head and agree with everything I say and.. then I’m going let you bop the little one in the head.”

Mummy rushes out:  “Amanda, Amanda (oh that’s demon child’s name) are you alright baby?”

Satan-Amanda nods smiling up at me.  I playfully tussle her golden curls.

“I’m quite concerned about what I witnessed from the kitchen window. Would you like to explain yourself.”

 No, not really.

“You… you pulled a nasty and very violent action in front of my daughter.” Earth Mother crosses arms, starts foot tapping and purses her lips.

“Huh?” Playing dumb is effective in buying time. Hadn’t quite come up with a plan yet.

And then like a flash it popped into my head. “Oh the… oh ha hee!” My fake laugh. “I was showing, little Sata… – Amanda, the new Zealand Haka. Yes! Karmatay karmaty kora kora arrh hee hee hee. She said the end part… where I pretend to slit my throat, was funny… so I did it again and… then you saw. Just a joke between Amanda and me. We are such pals.”

“Well, it’s not appropriate.” Earth Mother fumes.

Yes, it is quite violent.

I wouldn’t want to corrupt the future serial killer.

 

Mummy after much convincing, finally returned inside.

Demon child played her part well, so I patted her on the back and said, “Go on.”

Wack! Right in the mush.

I picked up my blubbering nephew: “Sorry little buddy, but one of us had to take a hit for the team and it wasn’t going to be me”.

 

Then I gave little blondey a hiding

and grand-theft-autoed outta there.