It's all TRUE

OPINION: So on Monday I got to work and said to my office pal Fanny, "Do you think I can wear these leggings with this top?" And as I looked down upon myself, lo and behold I was wearing two different shoes, writes Sarah McCarthy in this week's Uptown Girl.

By now you guys must be thinking that I just make this stuff up. That nobody could possibly have so many run-ins with bugs (did I tell you about the weta in my sleeve? That was awesome. I was sitting on the couch in my long-sleeved cardigan, luckily quite buzzed on Tanqueray and sunshine, and I felt a crawly sensation under my arm so I grabbed it and squished it and out fell legs and torso and feelers. Separately. The neighbour told me they are simply plagued by them and that she had one on her head the other night in her bedroom) or clothing troubles or misunderstandings or people asking if I'm expecting quadruplets or burglaries or chips.

But I don't make a single thing up – I omit heaps of things, like how much I cry over imagined scenarios involving the cat, how I can't watch or read anything with animals in it, how sometimes when I am alone in the house I pretend I am in a movie and how I think mangoes taste like fish and fish tastes like metal, but I don't make any of it up. I don't need to.

It's like the Cosmic Joker reads my column and wants it to be funnier, which is cruel and actually quite judgmental. Why doesn't the Cosmic Joker want to read about my global adventures after winning an all-expenses-paid round-the-world trip? Or, better yet, why doesn't the Cosmic Joker smack Bossy in the back of the head and turn him soft and get him to pay me boatloads to only write my column and the occasional angry letter to the editor? Then it would be Comedy Gold and I would have more time to bake and get down the gym to help put a stop to the ravages of time, which are currently ravaging my whole frontal area, including the inside of my knees and my big toe, where I think I am developing a bunion.

But, no, the Cosmic Joker simply makes sure I don't pay enough attention when dressing myself in the mornings, resulting in me wearing one matte black ballet slipper and one shiny patent ballet slipper. I looked like I was making some kind of a fashion statement, which is an area reserved for Lady Gaga and the woman who wanders around town with lipstick on her knees.

This is how people end up living in seclusion and washing their hands over and over again, isn't it? And only eating orange food. And drinking more gin.

» Sarah McCarthy is a Southland Times staff member.

- © Fairfax NZ News

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