Okay, that's a lie - here in the NT, there was a news story about a car accident that was caused when the passenger decided it was essential to his existence on earth to moon the driver of a truck. Except instead of being a 'hero' to the mooning society of the NT, he became a distraction for the driver who lost control of the car and rolled it.
I mean, really, where else is there to go with that? The stupidity is off the charts - I'm not sure I could even come up with an acidic response that has enough burn.
All I know is that, with any luck, my Dad will have a new inmate to look after.
It's been a big week here at home - there's the mystery of the disappearing chickens, the mystery of the massive fucking holes in our fence, and the undeniable connection between the missing chickens and the massive fucking holes in the fence.
We are convinced that the poor chickens have met with foul play - excuse the pun - and it's most likely at the hands of the big arse dog from next door that keeps creating massive fucking holes in our fence.
If the dog isn't careful, I will be repairing the holes with a lovely tanned leather, and he will be the star of his own great disappearing mystery.
But aside from the Great Chicken Mystery of 2013 (which isn't really a mystery), the biggest news is that I've been made redundant.
I'm actually quite thrilled!
It must have been sightly confusing for the manager who called me. I'm not sure she was prepared for someone to be so pleased about being unemployed.
I assume they were anticipating tears, questions about positions that could be applied for, chances to take on a role completely unsuitable just for the sake of remaining employed and, possibly, offers of being the person who cleans the carpet with their tongue.
Trouble is, love, I'm not unemployed. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm on maternity leave. I'm not in Bali, living it up for 12 months, having a party. I'm busy trying to make sure 2 small people are fed, dressed, to pre-school when required, bathed and still alive by bedtime. If I manage to get my own shit together in that time, then my day is a 100% success and when I collapse into bed at 9pm I don't dream about stacking the dishwasher.
I've done the working mother thing - and it was the biggest load of bullshit I've ever experienced.
Yeah, sorry, a spreadsheet does not rate with me when my child has a raging fever and childcare has called for me to collect her. My manager would put on a 50 year old's version of a floor kicking tantrum, and I'd leave to pick up my sick kidlet anyway.
Dude, I'm a parent. The day a tantrum scares me is the day I am completely fucked.
In the end, I'm not even sure why my workplace included 'flexible', 'family' or 'friendly' in any of their documentation. It was clearly there for decoration. Or perhaps for mocking purposes.
Either way, they've done me a massive favour. The only thing that could have made it better would be if I could have given them this...
