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HARD TIMES
You’d think after a week off from writing this column I’d be refreshed,
bursting with new ideas and sardonic wit on life. Instead I’m like the
proverbial bear with a sore head only in my case a lesbian with a sore
arm. Rotator cuff injury: very nasty, limited movement, lots of pain
and patchy sleep. I know you can’t possibly tell from the gorgeous pic
of me now accompanying this column instead of that awful cartoon I had
to put up with for nearly two years, but I’m seriously fed-up and
grumpy and it’s not pretty.
My colleagues knew I couldn’t be premenstrual because they had to put
up with watching me cough and splutter while chewing gross-tasting
Nurofen last week to get rid of period pain (trust me when I say
nothing is sacred in a gay office). Even the delicious raw organic
chocolate bars I discovered at the Vegan Expo on Sunday haven’t managed
to lift my mood, especially as I’m finding it difficult go online and
buy more of the stuff because I’ve had to move the mouse to my other
hand. Still, if I manage to become ambidextrous because of it, my
girlfriend will be in for some extra thrills in the bedroom.
As for what to write about this week, well, difficult women spring to
mind, as I follow the trials and tribulations of MP Belinda Neal,
blamed for the downfall of her husband John Della Bosca after she
allegedly lost the plot at a nightclub and threatened to pull its
licence and lose staff members their jobs. The PM has insisted she
undergo ‘counselling’ and ‘anger management’. It’s probably for the
best. We all know that women’s anger must be contained, lest the world
as we know it comes to an end. Men may have violent episodes and start
wars but if the collective rage of ‘woman’ – always bubbling away just
under the surface, causing her to turn it inward on herself – ever
spewed out, untempered, the phrase ‘You ain’t seen nothin’ yet’ would
take on a whole new meaning. You know it, people
Personally I find angry women rather hot. Even if they’re shouting at
me (sometimes especially if they’re shouting at me). A scowl can be a
turn-on in the right circumstances. Then a snarl ... building to a
crescendo of yelling and wild gesticulation. It’s a bit like watching a
chick come, only you didn’t have to get a sore neck making it happen.
Sometimes I’m tempted to bump the car in front of me if there’s a sexy
Double Bay mama decked out in designer gear at the wheel, just so
she’ll fly out of the car, slam the door shut, then strut towards me
ready to unleash her fury.
Still, no point indulging in those kinds of fantasies until the other hand can do everything it needs to. Life’s a bitch.
Katrina Fox
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