I’m not really one to party hard on New Years eve. Too much pressure is all. But I’m fond, like on most days of sitting in my garden on a bean bag and rolling some champers or a good caprioshka. This year was no different – we did a BBQ – The Artist cooked like an Iron Chef and we headed off to the Maroubra Headland where we observed both the Coogee and Sydney fireworks at 9pm simultaneously! Who knew?
On our return The Artist went straight to the bathroom. Those Pure Blondes with 85% less carbs (bullshit, bullshit) seem to just flow straight through a person. I returned to the kitchen to retrieve my glass of champagne when a brief commotion occurred down the passage. Did I care? No.
Granny Kay had been rummaging through her handbag for a comb. Because the wind had disturbed her hair. She then, without thought to enquire, opened a closed bathroom door to fix her “do”. Except well, The Artist was in full flight emptying his bladder. Much yelling and outrage (them). Much laughing (me).
According to The Artist she didn’t even leave quickly enough. According to Granny Kay he should have locked the door. All my father wanted to know was if Granny Kay liked what she saw? All kinds of inappropriate people. All kinds.
The Artist has made it an order of business today to fix that lock today.
Happy New Year people.
Love and light