Leave My Crotch Alone

With Mother’s Day looming just around the corner, I was reflecting on my own experiences growing up with my mother (and when you sit in the sun in a tin foil hat and mirrorball sequinned jacket, you can do nothing else but, reflect). And whilst extinguishing the dying embers of a smouldering grass fire in my backyard (should have picked a slightly less sunny day for reflection), a couple of incidents come to mind, like…remember the time I wore that mirrorball jacket and burned down the backyard…


Remember last week when I was trying on jeans in the change rooms and the sexy young sales assistant half my age, snuck in and grabbed me on the crotch?

Okay, you got me. That didn’t really happen. Well…it did, but it didn’t. I mean, it did actually happen, just not like that…exactly. Imagine the same scenario except…flip the ages around and substitute the sales assistant for…you guessed it…MY MOTHER! Probably the most embarrassing thing a mother could ever do to their son…

Take him shopping…for jeans.

Because you always know the moment is gonna come, when she bursts through the curtain which face it, is the world’s flimsiest attempt at privacy and security (see PVC shower curtain or First Class section on a plane), and not only does she usually pull back the curtain whilst your strides are still around your ankles, but why is it, the very first place they go for is…

“Have you got enough room in the crotch?”

And the reason why there is ALWAYS plenty of room in the crotch when you’re trying on jeans with your mother is because of exactly that…you’re trying on jeans WITH YOUR MOTHER!!! And everything that usually resides in your crotch has retreated so far back up inside yourself, you can hardly stand upright and you are mere inches away from completely disappearing up inside your own body cavity.

Incidentally, that’s not the only time I’ve been grabbed on the crotch in public. I was also grabbed on the crotch in the middle of a nightclub while carrying a beer in both hands…BY A MAN! I should have just punched him right in the face but…I had two beers to finish. It was the most awkward 20 minutes of my life.

And then there was the time the tables were turned and I embarrassed my mother, when I did that horribly politically incorrect, insensitive kind of thing called…being a stoopid teenager (by pretending to be mentally disabled when visiting my aunty in hospital). It’s horrible I know, but I was a teenager and you know, it’s what we did back then. Approaching the hospital I slurred my speech, added a limp and even drooled a little. And like you, right now, she was mortified. So much so, she started slapping me repeatedly to cut it out. Which, to people in the carpark coming out of the hospital, seemed like a terrible mother beating her mentally disabled son. I know, I’m a monster.

But what I reflect upon the most, is the time I got my ass whipped by a bully, a year ahead of me at school. I came home crying, my shirt all torn, my nose bloodied, wearing my underpants wedgie as a hat and before I could even blubber the words out of my mouth, she’d slam dunked me into the car and you couldn’t see us for smoke as the tyres squealed with horror underneath us. She may be small in stature, but you do anything to hurt her kids and by god…she is ready to rumbaaaaaaaaal!

The bully’s parents owned a new motel in town and when my mother kicked through the front doors, it was High Noon at the OK Corral. She tore strips off him, strips off the mother and I was so worked up, I threw up all over their new carpet in their foyer. Word to the wise, don’t mess with us, we’ll come at you with both barrels heaving. I’ve never been so proud and it’s a great secure feeling to know that someone you love so much has got your back like that.

So through it all, through all the embarrassing moments, one thing is definitely clear…I need a different mum (I kid, I kid…monster, I tells ya). No, what is clearly evident is that…you love your kids no matter what and we in turn, love you right back.

Happy Mother’s Day



Right On Target

While Indy was off enjoying Mother’s Group with Mumma, I was invited along by the 360 Immerse Agency, to attend a blogger event for Target Menswear. I guess, to find out exactly what my blog should be wearing this summer?

Which presented a couple questions. First of all, what’s a Blogger Event? And secondly, did I remember to empty the nappy bin this morning? Now that I’m a Dad, rarely do I have consecutive thoughts that are ever related to each other. (Who am I kidding, it’s not because I’m a Dad, it’s because I’m a man). Now, where was I? Oh yes…cheese now comes in a variety of…

Blogger Event:  a special event put on by a respective company/organisation to tout their wares and hopefully generate interest from bloggers; ie: people who write blogs…(for the cheap seats up the back), to share with their multitudes of fans (or the one or two people who don’t press ignore or delete when an update appears in their inbox)…and is NOT an arcade game showdown where you have to get across the road, avoid traffic, jump on the logs, get the fly and watch out for the alligator. That’s Frogger. (Damn…and me with all those pockets full of quarters. Anyone need change for the meter?)

So, a bunch of us mummy and daddy bloggers got together at the Como Building, which is not to be confused with the one with the really bad toupee (that’s the Combover Building), and got to meet, put faces to blogs, catch up on who’s-who-in-the-zoo, swap business cards, share stories, set fire to the joint, throw tv’s out the window and cause anarchy…all before a light morning tea.

Then, we got to meet the great folks at Target who gave us a little look-see into the upcoming fashion range changes for men, (Man, those models were skinny. About the size of a coat hanger…wait, they were coat hangers…phew), and discussed the new direction that Target is focusing toward in the future, which I believe is…umthat way?

But to be honest, they’re bringing in some pretty cool stuff. A new range of business shirts made from Egyptian cotton, coz you know, that’s what Egypt is well known for…it’s sand cotton. Some pretty cool comical Star Wars t-shirts, plus a whole range of TV inspired “BAZINGA” Big Bang Theory tees, etc. And how cool is their new range of Rolling Stones inspired t-shirts and tank-tops! Celebrating 50 years in the biz — can you believe it? I have a rule about band t-shirts. You should only buy band t-shirts for current bands who are still together and working…or alive. (They’re what?…They are?…I wonder what it took to achieve such longevity?…Steroids? Viagra?…Formaldehyde!)

At any rate, we had a great time, aired our thoughts on any changes we’d like to see, such as making t-shirt necks smaller. Bigger necks on t-shirts makes our bald-heads look smaller, which is great, if you’re looking to lose a few pounds from your cranium, but for those of us who like to wear t-shirts without looking like shrunken-headed voodoo dolls, then that would be great.

We tied things up with a few games and prizes for performing our best Zoolander “Blue Steel” impression…(who am I kidding, I’d do that WITHOUT a prize involved).

So, as far as I’m concerned, with the new direction and changes coming in. I say, Target…

You hit the Bullseye!

And thanks again to the good folks at 360 Immerse Agency for NOT doing the egg’n’spoon race 😉

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Road Trip

Packing the car for Indy’s very first road trip to visit my family in the country, I’m struck by an astonishing realization.

How is it that someone so small requires so many things? We used to have only one suitcase in the back of the boot, but now, there’s a pram, two bassinets, nappy bags, blankets, car seats, clothes, spare clothes and did I mention…more clothes?

You quickly learn that babies require a bigger wardrobe change than Lady Gaga. Not because of artistic choices due to their imagination, but by necessity, due to the amount of baby-chuck that tends to spontaneously adorn their freshly changed clean clothes, like a random Pro Hart painting or a hapless Spiderman victim.

And if you remember the scene in Ridley Scott’s Aliens, when Lance Henriksen’s android character Bishop, gets ripped in half by the Queen Alien and sprays milky white residue all over the loading dock, then you’re somewhere in the ballpark.

But loading all these things into the car, it’s very quickly apparent that things will never be the same again. No more can we get out of the house in five minutes. Never again can we slip away for a weekend without loading the car like we’re storing nuts for Armageddon.

As I stare disbelievingly into the depths of our open boot, things are painfully obvious…

We’re gonna need a bigger boat…

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