November 6, 2006 - Giddy-up baby.
There’s something about Spring Racing Carnival time in Melbourne that turns intelligent, rational women into raging, moronic twits.
There’s something in the air that compels a normally sensible girl to spend eight hours in direct sunlight watching ponies run in circles. She’ll wear little more than a hanky tied on with string, all the while thinking ‘wow, I’m like sooo gonna have a fantastic tan tomorrow!’ Of course she’ll wear a wide-brimmed hat, but contrary to the entire ‘hat’ concept, it’s of a flimsy, holey weave that attracts and concentrates UV rays. She’ll drink plenty of fluids to stay hydrated – namely Canadian Club, Cougar, beer and perhaps a splash of G & T for variety. She’ll stagger around all day in a pair of high heels that grind her spinal discs into powder, eat excessive quantities of salty, fat-laden snacks and bet hard-earned money on a horse because its name sounds like ‘Testicles’.
Then she’ll probably spend the next day moaning about sore feet and a sorer stomach, wondering why her purse is empty. She’ll rub various lotions into limbs that light up the room with an eerie red glow, and spend most of the day naked because clothing is an excruciating ordeal, and just looking at a bra makes her shoulders sting.
And she’ll tell everyone what a bloody fantastic day she had.
Yay for Melbourne Cup week!
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