Honker Honker #scrub

To the gentleman who so sweetly honked at me and screamed, “nice arse,” as I walked to the shops today,

Firstly I’d like to say thank you for taking time out from your busy schedule to compliment me. You no doubt were in a rush to chug some VB cans followed by crushing them on your forehead so did not have time to stop and speak to me in a more lengthy manner. I am just sure from the brief insight I got into your vocab that we would be the firmest of friends. I am of course flattered that you did look upon my visage and find it both pleasing and provocative. I do have a fantastic rump and it is always lovely to have a compliment applied directly to my rear. I certainly had gone to the extra effort of pulling my unbrushed hair up into a mum-bun, so it was nice that it didn’t go unnoticed. And right back at you, your shaved head with a rats tail is a visual treat that I don’t oft get since I moved to the city. It did make me sick for my childhood home in the country. Ah memories, thanks so much for that.

Secondly, it would be a lie if I said I didn’t feel that deep personal connection, that drove you to honk at me, too. Gosh, before I even turned to hear your dulcet tone float from your mouth unto my happy ears I could feel your presence. The thrumm of your engine filled myself, and no doubt the whole street, with excitement. Why my flesh was covered with goose bumps and the hairs on the back of my neck did  stand on attention before you even honked. I felt it too. There is a bond between you and I. My panties nearly ran screaming from my body with your first toot, and then on your second, well I’m surprised they didn’t simply errupt into flames.

Thirdly, I hope you don’t think me rude for not responding to your compliment. You unfortunately drove off so quickly, and with such a loud screech of burning rubber, that I could not respond at the time.

You were to quick for my frail girly brain to respond. I must admit that the loud screech did scatter my silly brain because my fragile lady nerves were in tatters. Afterwards I did of course consider giving chase to your vehicle so I could tell you about all the feelings burning inside me, but it would not become a lady to chase men on the streets, despite this being true love and all. Plus, I had to buy tampons.

Which leads me to fourthly. Alas, our love is not to be. Unfortunately I’m married with three kids. Hush, don’t apologise. How were you to know that your soul mate had already taken another lover and bore his children? I had left hastily after washing up bottles and had thoughtlessly left my wedding ring on the kitchen bench. There is no way you could have known another man had already stamped his ownership upon me. And obviously it’s my own damned impatient fault for not waiting for you to drive into my life. Damn me and my wandering eye. I should have waited. But again, my silly girl brain could think of nothing else but having babies after I turned thirty. So please, forgive me, but we can never be. If I were but single I’m ardently sure that it would be on like Donkey Kong, but alas, I am not. We must resist our urges and maintain a distance. Don’t honk me again because I do not know if I could resist your seductive charms a second time. My children need me, please don’t tear my family apart.

Farewell forever

Your soul mate

Robin

Denise Scott, Mother Bare: A Reflection Statement*

Now when I go see a lady comedian I look for one thing,  and one thing alone, is there a lot of mention of vag. And I’m pleased to say Scotty not only delivered (oh yes, pun intended) but then gave even more. Some female comedians these days do a brief reference to the fanwah in order to tick off the stereotype but then move on to talking about other things like… I don’t know, not important things… cars or something? Not only did Scotty brush over the vajayjay she went deeper, much, much deeper.

Yup, that’s right, Scotty went uterus deep. I don’t want to give away too much (“Spoilers Sweetie,” as the Whovians say) but her plunge into the female anatomy had one young gentleman so excited that he had to run out and Google prolapse before the show ended. He certainly looked far more satisfied when he returned so I can only imagine he found the answers he was looking forward.

I have to say that Scotty didn’t just inspire a love of learning in the runner but also in the young women in the audience. When asked what a bicornuate uterus was one young lass answered “like two,” following up with, “well, bi means two!”

And of course it does. As an English teacher I can assure you her teacher would be proud. Very proud because knowing bi means two is one thing but knowing what cornuate (horn like) refers to is another level entirely. Have to admit I was picturing some sort of devil uterus with two horns, thank goodness I wasn’t asked because I can imagine that response would have opened up can of worms one show just couldn’t untangle.

Cesareans,  episiotomies and bitches who get through birth with no vaginal woes also got a nod. So if you like your comedy vag focused, you’re in for a treat. I do, I’m not thinking of getting Judith Lucy’s signature on my pelvis for nothing.

Apart from vages Scotty also told some stories of her early days doing stand up. I’m wondering if she is considering doing a “Where are they now” episode so that the rooster sucker can be heard over the voice over. “Suck my….” “Denise, do you remember this voice?” Oh my giddy aunt.

There were also some fantastic family stories that had us all rolling but again, Spoilers Sweetie. BUT I feel that I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that there are clown references and a photo is displayed at one point that is actually far creepier than the clown from Spawn. You have been warned.

Highly recommend that you grab a ticket to one of the additional shows put on. It is seriously hilarious. Just do me a favour. Take a male with you. Preferably a male like my mate Pete who said to me, “The only thing I know about womb is it’s how you start to spell wombat and both are dirty, hairy and belong in the wild.”

* Why a reflection statement rather than a review?  Firstly, I’m not a reviewer so wouldn’t do reviewing justice. I mean I don’t even drink coffeeor smoke, which I’m told are the base level requirements. If they change the criteria to bitchy tea drinkers then I’m in. Secondly,  I’m going through my existential phase at the moment so relate everything back to my life these days. It’s been going for around 23 years now so I’m thinking I may be coming out of it soon.