Laughter is the best medicine – unless you’ve got Xanax, in which case, always choose Xanax!

Throughout the dark, nightmare-ish road that I’m currently travelling, named divorce, the only thing that has kept me ‘semi-sane’ is my sense of humour.  Yes, sometimes, it’s proved to be *wildly* inappropriate* but the look of shocked horror on my accomplices faces has only fuelled my ability to shock and stun – it’s ace!!

Today was a pretty shitty day on the sphincter scale.  I had a rental inspection (where a woman resembling ‘The Governess’ from the TV show The Chaser comes round to inspect your home for cleanliness levels and generally how much of a scrubber you are). 

I AM a scrubber – but not in the ‘clean freak’ way.  Unfortunately, OCD evaded me and I’m basically a slob who will be found dead amongst my body weight in empty ready meal containers; I’ll probably feature on the news as my cats would have started to eat me, so that’ll be my 15 minutes of fame, thanks, Mr Warhol.  As if the two days of cleaning wasn’t bad enough, I had to banish my pussies to Ralphs for an overnight stay.  The logistics of transporting two feral cats meowing their hearts out along to Celine Dion with my in car stereo was no mean feat (it makes for a pretty epic Snapcat video though - see what I did there?).

Coupled with cat logistics and fat woman with white glove, I also had my car booked in for a service and had to negotiate the men’s domain that IS the mechanic’s lair.  To be fair, the blokes at the garage that I use do have a sense of humour and I don’t feel that they are always trying to con me into having my big end regassed (or whatevs!).  I managed to vacuum my kitchenette, pack up Celine and Dion, drop DD off at school and swap my Miley Car-us for the Hyundai Jackie Chan (diesel) all before 9am.  I HAD this shit!!

Unfortunately, it was a Tuesday, which means radio silence with the ex is broken for 3 days of ‘open season’ via email in terms of provocation, belittling, and condescension and downright bad manners – but hey - he knew what he was getting when he married me – Boom tisch!  It seems that as soon as my name appears in his inbox, he’s off and running – what shit can I fling at her today until her ears light up like a novelty night light and she can feel her temples throbbing in time with her pulse?  He really is relentless.  If he used his power for good (instead of winding me up like a wanker), he really would be a force to be reckoned with.  But no….. instead, he uses his time, effort and energy into goading me into a miserable fug for three days.

I have therefore decided to award an ‘email of the day’ for the most pathetic waste of wearing down index fingers in the plain hope to rattle me into giving in (extra marks will be awarded for the best ‘spelling error’ of the day and bonus points if the same spelling error is used consistently in subsequent emails).  Let’s turn the negative into a positive.  

Yes, when I initially receive the emails, they do make my blood boil, but when I read them back, later (MUCH later) on the wrong side of a glass of wine, they are actually hilarious!  The sense of entitlement!  The fact that he truly believes he is so much ‘better’ than me – or anyone, for that matter – is genuinely laughable. 

Here’s an excerpt from today’s ***EMAIL OF THE DAY*** (I so need a radio-style jingle for that bit! - and an oversized leather bound folder and a big winged red velvet chair like that old bloke on 'That's Life').
Tuesday 18^th August; pathetic level = expert:

“Until settlement has been agreed, I would like to be able to have unrestricted access to our boat.  I think the best and fairest way to do this is on a by-weekly basis (5 bonus points for by-weekly), and I (think he means ‘it’) would make sense that I have access for the week that I have 'son' (and 'daughter' should she wish to come).

I will leave the boat as I find it.

Please arrange for a set of keys to be made available from Friday 28^th August 2015.”

Now I can see why he’s pissed off.  I ‘have’ possession of the boat and Ralph, the kids and I are often out on it – chasing dolphins, looking for whales, generally having a giggle and fishing.  HE on the other hand has possession of: the family home (including home theatre, swimming pool, spa etc.), A 1000cc motorbike, a 250cc motorbike, full access to the office unit and a Porsche – so I can see why he’s a little disgruntled (NOT).  

Maybe I should have replied ‘sure thing!  Whilst you’re out on the boat, I’ll be at your place, watching a movie in the home theatre.  Or better still, Ralph can give me lessons on your Repsol so I can get my bigger bike license (would be an AWFUL shame if I dropped it under a truck though – or revved it off a cliff!).’

The thing is, I moved the boat as my rental apartment has a mooring included with the rent, so it actually costs us nothing extra to keep it here – and seeing as we’d been paying $240 a month for a Broker to try and SELL it for us, it was a no brainer.  Move it and use it – boats don’t like being sat there with no action (much like my good self).  It’s Private Property, so – sucks to be you! And there is no way on God’s Earth he would be able to park the boat back into its mooring here – it’s the boat parking equivalent of the Top Gear challenge when they couldn’t get the supercars out of the garage in Paris to even start the challenge! 

But – where exactly does he get off barking orders at me?  No ‘please’?  No ‘thank you’?   Just a complete sense of entitlement and that I should bow down to him consistently.   I don’t want Biltong’s scrawny arse on the floating love palace!

There were other strong contenders for today’s accolade, but I think the above is a deserved winner.

After the steam had stopped whistling out of my ears and I had come off the boil, I loaded Barbara and Mavis back into their cat carriers for the return journey home and replaced Celine Dion for a little Mariah – no wonder they have hair in their ears – must be to drown out the warbling!

Dropped off the Halls Head 2 back to their incarceration and headed for the testosterone fuelled garage workshop.  Mr Mechanic took his seat in his faux racing driver office chair (mechanic in a reasonably priced chair)…… I prepared for acceleration from $ 0 to $ 500 in a matter of seconds.  

Ahhh, your back tyres are down to the canvas.  ‘Is that bad?’  Well, yes, actually – quite dangerous.  ‘Oh, OK….. I’d better get 2 new ones then :/  They will be good quality ones though won’t they?  I don’t want any dangerous, cheap imports’ (the irony of this statement was not lost on me, even though I was doing to automotive equivalent of driving round with my skirt tucked in my knickers – only WAY more dangerous). 

Miley Car-us (so named as she’s a show off and takes her top off for attention), also had more oil leaks than was healthy.  I blurted out (in her defence), well, she is getting older – it’s probably just incontinence.  She hasn’t been able to do a star jump for years and who doesn’t wee a little when they sneeze?  Her front brakes are also 80% worn – ‘no worries’ said I, ‘I’ll just use the back ones for a bit’  This is when the look of bewilderment took over the mechanic’s face – I was used to that, half astonishment, 50% WTF?

So, Miley is going back to the workshop tomorrow for a new pair of shoes and to have the skirt picked out of her arse crack. My radio’s also stopped working, but I think in all honestly, the apprentice saw my One Direction CD in the foot well and he removed the fuse on purpose!   

Oh, and when I got home, the Governess had left her calling card.  I had a great inspection; but need to work on the following areas for next time please:

·         My washing machine needed a wipe down (no worries – I’ll bung it in the machine next wash).

·         My door frame between the laundry and the toilet was dusty (I don’t think I’ll ever be able to show my face in public ever again!).

·         The racks in my oven were greasy (who knew).

·         The carpets were un-vacuumed in a teenagers bedroom (get me to the gallows IMMEDIATELY!).

·         The carpets will also require a clean prior to next inspection – not a ‘professional’ clean, but you can hire a carpet cleaner from Bunnings and give them the once over (or pad round the house on my hands and knees with a straw and suck the stains out personally).

My washing machine shame and door frame scandal.  How will I live with myself?

The joke’s on her really as the Halls Head two went undiscovered for another 3 months and they are currently crocheting the stairway carpet with their claws.

And here endeth my Tuesday.

* like the time we were sat at the airport to wave Ralph off to Queensland and I happened to mention that if the 7.05pm Perth to Kalgoorlie shuttle accidentally dropped out of the sky, it wouldn't *really* be a huge loss to Humanity with the 67 overweight, ugly people that the jet contained.  Harsh?  Maybe, but very accurate.