Kiss My Ass

Today started like any other day when Mr W. is not working … lying in bed having idle chit chat while watching Kochie & Mel on Sunrise (and Mr W. wishing that Sam Armytage was back on – he has a serious crush on that woman).  Except every time I went to get close to Mr W. he would duck his head away.  At one point he disappeared, only to return and breathe mouthwash on me … I didn’t know it at the time but it was a hint.

Well, while we were cooking breakfast, Mr W. politely informed me that I have bad morning breath.  The penny dropped … “so that’s why you were avoiding me in bed huh”.  “Yep, I can’t stand it, it disgusts me!”.  I retorted “but I have to put up with your ass, the least you could do is put up with a bit of bad breath!”.  Mr W. not so politely told me that I didn’t have to kiss his ass.  Hmmm, depends on which way you look at it really.

But it did give me an idea.  Everytime Mr W. breaks wind, I’m going to breathe on him.  Yep, childish I know, but that’s the way we roll in this household.  I mean come on, some of the “terms of endearment” we use for each other would astound normal people I’m sure.  You should see the looks we get at Woolies.  It really is true love I tell you.

Now, this is not the first time that Mr W. has broached this rather delicate subject with me.  Early on in our relationship, he sat me down on the side of the bed and ever so diplomatically (and I use the term loosely) told me that I had bad morning breath.  Of course first he told me to promise that I would not be offended and then told me he loved me afterwards … so clearly this was early on, we were still being rather polite to one another lol.   I do remember ever so politely telling him (again) that I put up with the decidedly horrendous wafts that come from the depths of his below (really that was sooooo polite), however perhaps he could turn the little minty fresh mints into minty fresh breezes by using said breath mints as suppositories.

Anyway, this little tale doesn’t have a neat little ending, but more a sinister laugh at me trying to think of ways to taunt Mr W. with my apparently bad morning breath.  Although I would love to meet the person whose breath smells minty fresh at 6am.

So Mr W., here’s an idea, in light of the breath mint suppositories previously suggested, perhaps a colonic irrigation using mouthwash is on the cards?

Love ya.

pp xx

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An Outback Wedding?

And so after all the excitement of becoming Mr & Mrs W. to be … the time came to start planning.  Just on the excitement, you can only imagine how many hours I have spent staring at my ring and squealing at friends and family over the phone.  Poor Mr W., I really don’t think he was prepared for this side of things.  His ears are still ringing.

So back to the planning.  We really don’t want a long engagement, so we pretty much set the date the night Mr W. proposed … 12th November 2011.  Yep, while Mr W. watched Metallica … I gazed at the way the pretty lights reflected off my engagement ring … and planned the wedding … I’m a woman, I can multitask!!

After just 2 weeks, I, oh sorry, I mean we, had the entire wedding organised for Perth … celebrant was booked, reception venue booked and deposit paid … limo booked, hairdresser and flowers … they were all crossed off my list.  Everyone thought we were too eager booking everything straight away … but come on, look at our track record, do we ever wait around for things?  I think not!  I mean, let’s be honest … with the timeline we’ve been keeping, we should really be married by Christmas!

A few weeks after we were engaged my gorgeous best friend flew to Newman for a surprise visit … she arrived in red dirt splendour, a bottle of Moet under her arm.  We were all sitting around the kitchen table day dreaming about the wedding when Mr W. pushed an open book towards me … opened to a page displaying Home Valley Station.  All it took was one look from Mr W. (and some encouraging from my bestie) and I was sold.

And so, the next day I jumped on the phone, rang HV Station … and booked the entire wedding.  The only catch is that we have to bring the wedding forward to 3rd September 2011 … but that is definitely not a problem … the sooner the better!

All those months ago (he he) when we travelled the Gibb River Road together we had joked that if we ever got married it would be at Home Valley Station … and now here we were getting married … at Home Valley Station, among the gorgeous Cockburn Ranges and Pentecost River.  It just felt right.  The next chapter of our lives together is set to commence where it had originally began …

And so began “something boab, something blue” …

pp xx

Bride. Groom. Wedding. Soon.

So, I’m sure you’ve heard the news … Mr W. and I are getting hitched!!  Our whirlwind romance (and I use that term very loosely) continues … who would have thought that when I met Mr W. on 9th March 2010 that we would be engaged on 22nd October … wow!!  Now when I look down at my scungy nails, minus the beautifully manicured acrylics that used to be there … I see a beautifully sparkly rock (well come on, I moved to Newman, I deserved more that the average engagement ring!!).  So you ask, how did all of this come to be?

Well, I started dropping hints back in August that perhaps for my birthday Mr W. might like to buy me some jewellery … of the super sparkly variety.  This was followed by a few discussions about how our wedding would be, how I would envisage my perfect proposal etc etc … But like most women, I had to take it just a little bit too far.  By the time September came I was dropping hints left right and centre, leaving Mr W. wondering what the hell was happening.  I made sure that he watched the final episdoe of Farmer Wants A Wife and ensured that he watched Farmer Nathan popose … I even got my finger sized when I flew down to Perth … and started educating Mr W. about carats (and how these were different from the bugs bunny variety) … and the fact that I was expecting more than 1.

But alas, my excitement was to be short lived!  Upon arriving back in Newman after a short trip to Perth for said finger sizing, Mr W. sat me down and calmly explained that it was just too soon to be thinking about marriage, after all, we had only been together for 6 months.  Devastated, I bawled my eyes out for 2 days (yes, in the interest of entertainment, I will admit this) … well that would serve me right for bragging to all and sundry while I was in Perth that there would be a proposal before Santa came down the chimney.  You see, I thought that Mr W. would propose with my more than 1 carat ring when we flew to Perth together for my birthday …

And so, we flew down to Perth for my birthday … staying in 5 star luxury and loving every minute.  And so sitting in the hotel room on the day of my birthday, Mr W. told me to close my eyes.  He placed a little box in front of me … my heart started pounding … I ripped off the paper and discovered a Pandora Box … still very exciting … but not what I was hoping for!!!  I was totally spoiled for my birthday … treated like an absolute Princess.  And then Mr W. said to me … “wait, there’s one more … and I was going to wait until dinner, but I’m going to give it to you now so that you can brag about it to everyone”.  Again, my little heart started beating … I closed my eyes and Mr W. placed yet another beautifully wrapped box in my hands.  Ooooh this is it … I thought!  But again, Mr W. had fooled me.  However, what was inside was nothing to sneeze about … a pair of the most divine white gold earring you’ve ever seen … I decided to just forget becoming Mrs W. … well this year anyway …

Bring on the next day … Friday, 22nd October.  Mr W. was being a grumpy so and so all day.  To the point where I was ready to go and book myself into a separate hotel room and drown my sorrows in my own personal collection of Moet.  Ho hum.  Now, that night was the Metallica Concert (the real reason Mr W. had brought me to Perth … see what I mean about that romance thing!!).  And so, later in the afternoon, I set about making myself look bogan enough to attend such an event.  Dark denim, check.  Black T shirt, check.  Bridget Jones Underwear (can’t be a chunky bogan), check.  While I was attempting to straighten my locks, my little ears pricked up.  Was that the safe I had just heard?  No it’s just your imagination playing tricks on you.  “Kate”, Mr W. called me from the other side of our hotel room.  “Babe, there’s a letter here for you, I wrote it the other day and forgot to give it to you”.  Annoyed that I was interrupted while trying to put the finishing touches on my hair and makeup, I stormed out to the desk and picked up said letter.  Hmmmm.  Interesting.  The letter was absolutely beautiful … a declaration of outback love at it’s finest.  But by the time I got to the end I was confused …
“2 months ago I made a life changing decision, 6 weeks ago I made a very expensive purchase and a week ago I made a phone call to which the answer came back YES”.

Confused, I moved the letter to ask what in God’s name he was on about … and that’s when I saw Mr W. on one knee holding a perfect little box … with a more than 1 carat ring inside … OMG!!!!  Did it just snow in Newman because Mr W. just proposed!!!!!!  And it was way better than Farm Nathan’s proposal – he was actually down on one knee!!  And that my darlings, is how Mr W. and the Pilbara Princess became engaged.  This also meant that the ring had been in the house for like 6 weeks and I hadn’t sniffed it out!!!  Hmmm my bling bling radar must need recalibrating!!!!

Bling Bling!

Stay tuned for the next instalment … our wedding plans are sure to be nothing short of hilarious.

Love you Mr W.

pp (aka, the future Mrs. W.) xx

 

Red Dirt Girl in a City World – A Very Expensive Lesson

Well, after spending 6 months in Newman with my gorgeous Mr W., I finally returned to the city for a week … just to check in, recharge … and SHOP!!  I’ll tell you all about my shopping later … but first I just have to tell you about the very expensive lesson I learned yesterday …

Here I was driving down the freeway, phone to my ear, excitedly telling Mr W. about the sexy new underwear I’d just bought when I looked to my right and saw an unmarked police car with their light flashing.  “Oh F***””, I said to Mr W., “It’s the cops”.  I hung up listening to Mr W. laughing … and hoping Mr Undercover Police couldn’t read lips.

I pulled over and waited for Mr Plod to come to the window.  He asked me what my excuse for talking on my phone while driving was (being someone who has always been able to talk my way around fines, so many excuses ran through my head).  I thought about going with something like … “I just had to tell my boyfriend about the sexy underwear I just bought” … or “well, I live in Newman and we don’t have shops and I was so excited about my purchases I just had to ring someone and tell them” … I even considered telling him all about the fact that I haven’t driven an automatic for 6 months, just to try and distract him.  But something told me that none of these were going to cut it.  And quite frankly, he was on the wrong side of the car for me to use the old “undoing the top button” trick (plus, I hadn’t had time to actually put on the sexy underwear).  Anyway … I simply said “it was a work call” – God knows what I was actually going to say work was calling about … a new trend in Orange shirts maybe?

Mr Plod then asked what sort of phone it was.  I had to wonder what that had to do with the price of black lace at Myer … but handed my iPhone over (maybe they charged you more for Nokia or something, I was hoping anyway).  Just as I showed him the phone it “dinged” loudly announcing a text from Mr W.  Geez … are you trying to get me arrested, I thought (thankfully I’d turned off the feature on the iPhone that shows the actual text message on the screen before you open it … although it did take all my self control not to read the text and answer it while being lectured on the dangers of talking whilst on the phone.

He asked for my licence and upon examing it asked if that was my current address.  I nodded … thinking maybe they’d feel sorry for me that I lived in Newman.  Oh no … 10 minutes later (yes, they left me stewing in my car for 10 whole minutes) … the younger of the cops returned with a “traffic infringement” as he so politely put it.  I’m not telling you how much it was … but let’s just say I could buy a whole heap more sexy underwear with it!!!

Take Away Coffee $3.90 (yes that’s right, we’re getting ripped off in Newman) … Flat Shoes $40 (yep that’s right, stilettos are out) … Sexy Underwear $100 … Getting caught on your phone while driving telling boyfriend about said sexy underwear … PRICELESS!!!

pp xx

The Sock Fiasco

When you think of socks, what do you think of?  I think of little pairs of cotton socks, non-descript, unisex … able to worn by anyone, any size, any gender.

And so you can imagine my surprise this morning, when my darling Mr W. informed me that in fact socks are not unisex … and his socks are not my socks.  How did this all come to be you ask.  Ahhhh well let me explain.

Well, I was busy getting ready for a super early start at work and Mr W. was getting ready to walk the dogs.  Upon opening his (our) sock draw he declared, “Kate I have no socks, why don’t I have any socks?.  You bought me 6 pairs a few months ago and now I’m down to 0.5” (holding up a lonely sock).  I opened my (my) sock draw and threw a pair of non-descript black sports socks at him.  “Where are my Nike socks?” he asked (apparently these are special socks).  I laughed and replied “oh I wore those last night”.  Mr W. rolled his eyes …declaring that in fact I can’t just use his socks and I need to get my own.  His suggested shopping list?  10 pairs of explorer socks and 6 pairs of sports socks.  “But explorer socks are expensive!!!”  I said … “Why would I buy my own when I can just use yours?”.  Another rolling of the eyes from Mr W.  I mean, I don’t see the problem.  I’ve been wearing his Explorer socks ever since I came to town.  And the draw is always full!!

I mean, I do have my own sock draw … it’s filled with pairs that I’ve apparently “stolen” from Mr W.’s sock draw … as well as clutch bags, notebooks, old purses and scarves.  It’s a multipurpose draw really.  Hence why I need to share a dedicated sock draw with Mr W.

I honestly don’t see the problem.  We share lots of things, all of which are washed and clean before the other person uses them.  Things like towels, cutlery, plates … and socks!  Apparently, Mr W. doesn’t want my “budgie” feet in his socks.  I won’t tell you the analogy I used to retaliate this one.  He asked me whether I would wear his underwear, to which I replied “well … I would consider it, it does look comfy”.  Apparently he doesn’t feel the same about my underwear.  It’s a shame really, we could be onto something.

And so, in the interest of keeping the love alive, I’ve added several pairs of socks to my shopping list for my Perth trip later this week.  I might even surprise my gorgeous man with some personalised socks … I mean, I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing socks that say “Mr W.” … or would I??

I would love to know your take on our Sock Fiasco.  Do you wear your partner’s socks?  How do they feel about this?

To be continued …

pp xx

Am I Losing the Princess Factor?

Losing the keys to the work car made me realise just how much my life has changed in the past few months.  In fact it had me worried that I might have been losing the princess factor … however, getting a flat tyre today has made me realise that actually, the princess factor is holding on strong … maybe I need to start from the beginning …

Last night, I dropped Mr W. off at work and then went and did the shopping.  Nothing unusual about that.  Except that I was wearing steel caps and a high vis orange shirt … and driving a mine site vehicle.  Oh how life has changed.  When I got home, I realised that I had locked myself out.   Luckily my gorgeous man is smart enough to have hidden a spare key for times like this.   And so, after getting into the house, I then realised that I had lost the car keys.  Ho hum.  I grabbed a torch and back tracked, I turned the car upside down, checked the shopping bags, the bin … but the keys were no where to be found!  Hmmm, looks like I would be pushing that car with the flashing beacon to work.

Searching through my handbag trying to find the keys to the work car (a far cry from my little city astra … a manual Nissan Patrol with a roll cage, flashing beacon, 2 way radio, flag and canvas seats … noice) … I found some unfamiliar objects amongst the myriad of lipglosses and perfumes … a “Take 5” notebook from a mine site induction, a glove clip, a pair of safety glasses … hmmmm.  Then I looked at what I was wearing … orange high vis shirt, daggy nanna jeans and clunky steel caps.  What happened to little Miss Glamazon?

Oh and back to the keys, well Mr W. found them near the herb garden (just like I knew he would).  Thank you honey xx

But if I was worried that the princess tiara was slipping,  I was reminded today, that in fact it is well and truly still sitting firmly in my freshly dyed locks …

Driving to work this morning (now that Mr W. had found the keys), I stopped in to get coffee at the only place in town with a decent brew.  When I got out, I heard a hissing noise … hmmmm smart enough to know I was soon going to have a flat tyre, I decided to forgoe my coffee and hot foot it back to the office … if it was going to die, at least it could do so in the comfort of the office carpark.

Sure enough, a few hours later the tyre was flat.  Hmmmm, what was I going to do?  I have seriously never changed a tyre in my life and this certainly wasn’t part of my job description.  I mean I have to wear PPE, but I don’t have to get dirty.  I phoned my boss to ask for the number for Roadside Assistance … I mean surely there is someone whose job it is to change my flat tyre.  He told me that I’d have to do it myself … or use my eyelashes to get someone else to do it for me.  I mean come on, this is a girl who can’t even get the bonnet of that silly car open … I’m serious, I can’t find the lever.

For a fleeting moment, I considered trying to change the tyre myeslf, but feeling the familiar grip of my princess tiara digging into my scalp I quickly decided against it.  Surely there was another way.  I mean, I may not have my acrylic nails anymore, but there was no way I was getting grease under the little fingernails I do have.

Just when I thought I would have to unbutton my orange high vis shirt, my gorgeous knight in shining armour (aka Mr W.)  phoned me … he had read my status on facebook (who said this social media tool had no standing?), having just woken up from night shift.  He was there within the hour, jacking up the Patrol and had that tyre changed in next to no time.  Thank you honey … you have proved yet again that you are best boyfriend in the world!

Well … I’m off to clean out my handbag … it’s high time my lip glosses and perfume resumed their previously highly held positions.

pp xx

Saturday Morning in Newman …

After having a week of feeling like I had lost my blogging mojo … a morning of boredem in Newman seems to have brought it back.  Mr W., being the hard working soul that he is, has just finished his 3rd night of night shift this morning.   For those of you with partners that work nights, you’ll know just how frustrating it can be when you have to live in the same house … and be quiet.  It’s great when I’m working, I get up and get ready for work, Mr W. comes home, jumps into bed and falls asleep.  But what happens when it’s my day off?  Well, I thought I’d share with you what night shift means for me when the morning after falls on a Saturday …

It means I have to be organised.  If I want to shower once Mr W. has gone to bed, I need to have all my stuff transferred to the other bathroom.  I know Mr W. says that once he’s asleep he can’t hear anything, but I would feel just awful if I woke him (remember the smoke alarm incident).  And so, night shift almost renders me homeless for a few hours as I search for things to do in this sleepy town …

6.15am alarm goes off, I remember that Mr W. will be home in about 20 minutes.  I get up, quickly gather bathroom paraphernalia, clothes, shoes and dump it on the kitchen table.  Jump back into bed.

6.40am Mr W. arrives home, I pretend to be asleep … have a conversation I can’t remember …

9.13am awoken by text message from my mum (oops, I must have fallen back to sleep) … Mr W. stirs a little, but I manage to sneak out of the bedroom without waking him.

9.45am after a shower in the spare bathroom, I take the dogs for a walk through the bush.

10.30am race home, put the dogs back in the yard, grab handbag and race to the gym for Pump … oops got the times mixed up, it started at 9.50, not 10.50 … ho hum.

10.40am head to hotel to buy a take away coffee … $5 (yes yes, your eyes aren’t deceiving you).

10.45am head to the shopping mecca of Newman to waste some time … surely there is something to look at?  Go to Woolworths, buy three magazines I don’t need and 4 mandarins that seem fresh and tasty.  One magazine had a free ModelCo Lip Balm … bargain.  Cost … $24.

10.55am walk back to car … which I have purposely parked on the other side of the car park so that it takes longer.  Call mum and talk to her in the car park.

11.10am do a lap around town, see who’s about.  no one to see.  return to shopping centre.

11.15am go to Tyre Shop to pick up spare tyre which has been repaired after my flat tyre yesterday.

11.25am go to newsagents to see what junk I can purchase … result = 3 scratchies, a birthday card, The West Australian Newspaper, Fridge Magnet, Blank Card … total $25.

11.35am do another lap around town … still no one about, no one to see, nothing to do.

11.50am decide to drive to Tropic of Capricorn.  This may seem strange, but try not going above 60km per hour for a month and see how you feel.  The lure of a 110km speed limit (if only for 15 km) is just too tempting.  Put on 80’s radio station, listen to Cher “If I Could Turn Back Time”.  Drive to Tropic of Capricorn sign, take photos, get back in the car, drive home.

12.10pm (yes I made it past lunch time) … arrive back in town, seeing as it’s after 12pm I head to the bottlo (you can’t buy wine here before 12pm remember).  Choose 3 bottles of white and a cask of red (yes I know, but it reminds me of my fabulous holiday lol).  Get told by the lady behind the counter that one cannot purchase cask wine on a Saturday, only a Mon or Tues.  Feel incredibly embarrassed.  Put cask back on the shelf and choose a bottle of red.  Gee it’s hard when you’re forced to be classy.  Pay for my wine and head back to the car.  Total $70.

12.20pm Consider sitting in the park and drinking my wine.  Decide to get Subway instead.

12.45pm Waited in line at Subway for about 15 mins but was actually happy with this, as it pushed my time out of the house out even further.  Total $9 (come on, I had to buy a couple of cookies too!).

1pm Returned home with above purchases.  Turned out to be an expensive morning.  Have snuck into the office and locked myself in so I can blog quietly.

So as you can see, I just love night shift.  It really makes my weekend.  Now where’s that wine???

pp xx

Gibb River Hilton – Part 9 “I wanna be a cowboy … baby …”

There is just something about a man in an Akubra Hat, a pair of cowboy boots and tight jeans that does something for me.  I just can’t help it.  Ever since I discovered Dan Brodie and the Broken Arrows, I’ve just had this love of all things “cowboy”.  And so you can imagine how excited I was while on the big adventure with Mr W. when I saw my first Ringer.  Hell yeah.

Now you may think I’m being disrespectful to poor old Mr W., however he knows that I know where my bread is buttered.  Plus, despite the fact that he has been known to wear an Akubra Hat, he has said a flat out no to pulling on the tight jeans and cowboy boots.  Party pooper.  So I have to fulfill my cowboy fantasies somewhere else.

Actually I think my obssession with cowboys makes him laugh more than anything.  He just doesn’t get it.  Take for example our helicopter pilot at El Questro station.  I happened to lay eyes on him at the bar … tight jeans, check … Akubra Hat , check … boots, check … rollies in the top pocket, check.  Not only was he a Ringer, he was also a copter pilot.  Mr W. thought it was hillarious that I was drooling over a man who had a monobrow.  My response?  Wax.

Now that you know about my cowboy obssession, you can also understand the excitement at buying my first Akubra hat.  It literally didn’t leave my head.  I had to buy the one called the “Rough Rider” … it fulfilled all my cowboy/cowgirl fantasies.  Mr W. just rolled his eyes as he watched me wonder around wearing an Akubra and thinking I was some cowgirl coming straight off a muster.  A girl can dream can’t she?

I wanna be a cowgirl ... baby ...

I actually think he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him when I asked the lady at the “rural clothing” store how I could clean my Akubra.  She looked at me blankly … “why do you want to clean it?”.  I looked at her as if she had just asked me why I wear stilettos!  Apparently, you don’t clean Akubras.  Just another lesson I can chalk up to experience.  And so my cream Akubra will remain stained with red dust … a momento of the cattle musters in my mind.

Now all I have to do is get Mr W. to understand my love of country music (again, it’s mainly the cowboy thing) and we might actually get somewhere.

pp xx

Man Flu has hit the Outback

It’s official … Mr W. has come down with a severe case of Man Flu.  Apparently he is rather close to death, poor poppet.  Every breath could well be his last.  His whole body aches, apparently.  Could this just be a case of the common cold or flu?  Well, for the female population, this would be just that, the common cold.  But for Mr W., God bless his cotton socks, this is a life threatening virus that could very well end his existence.  Ho hum.

Mr W. said to me on Friday … “Kate, I think I’m going to die”.  To which I replied, “well can you hurry up please?”.  Heartless I know, but seriously boys, it’s only the flu.

I must say the onset of this particular strain of Man Flu could not have come at a more convenient time for Mr W.  On Thursday night he announced that he was going to be spending Friday re-doing my herb garden (after the dogs destroyed it), cleaning the house and cooking me a lovely dinner.  Unfortunately he was struck down on Friday morning with the Man Flu.  It really did knock him down fast.

I have spent the last few days taking care of poor Mr W., playing nurse, which let me tell you does not come all that naturally to me (I would have to be the most unsympathic person when it comes to other people’s illnesses … come on now, toughen up princess).  Now I’ve avoided the temptation to don the Naughty Nurse’s costume, I mean, since Mr W. is that close to death it would be unfair to taunt him with such things.

No, I’ve been more than just a nurse, I have become his personal chef, cleaner and housekeeper.  Cups of tea, glasses of cold orange juice, chocolate, fresh fruit, fizzy vitamin Cs have all been at his disposal at any tick of the clock.  Thank the lord I refrained from giving him one of those bells.

Although I must make a small confession.  We decided last week to go on a bit of a health kick, after spending 4 weeks of living it up doing the Gibb River Road.  Well, I’ve kind of used Mr W.’s severe case of Man Flu to get some goodies back into the house.  You know, cos when you’re sick you want chocolate and lemonade and baked goods.  Ha ha … I’ve filled the cupboard and fridge with said goods, all for Mr W. of course, just in case he should need said goods to aid in a speedy recovery.

Get well soon Mr W., your fans need you 😉

pp xx

ps … just a little note to Mr W. … if, God forbid, I become ill with a strain of said man flu please let it be known that I will require 24 hour care and a multitude of affection.  Trying to get out of looking after me in this state will result in consequences beyond your worst nightmares.  thank you.  love pp xx

It’s black … it’s white …

I’ve never been much of a dog lover … in fact I hate most dogs … mainly due to a number of traumatic dog related experiences as a child.  Firstly there was my Uncle’s dog that bit me when I stepped on his foot to reach out for a bowl of ice cream (come on I was only 6) … and then when I was 15 our next door neighbour’s dog ate my Tokinese kitten.  And then there’s the fact that when I left home at 17 to go to uni my parents bought a Jack Russell crossed with a poodle (no I’m not giving that breed a capital letter) and named it Ben after a certain West Coast Eagles player.  I still hate that dog … call it sibling rivalry, he’s like the grandchild they never had!

So, knowing all this, you can imagine the laughs I got when everyone found out that I was moving to Newman with Mr W. … and his two dogs … rendering me “step mum”.

These two dogs, let’s call them “Black Dog” and “White Dog” to protect their identites (lol) are both Staffies … Black Dog is a girl and White Dog is a boy.  Sounds like it could be romantic.  It’s not.

those who shall remain nameless ...

My mother in particular thought it hillarious that upon meeting the dogs for the first time I bought them Schmakos and rolled around on the floor and played with them.  Awwhhhh the things you do for love.   It was my mother who also stated she would love to see me pick up after the little poppets, but, you know that a girl will do anything to impress a good looking man.  Well, that and my mother bought me a pooper scooper.  God bless her and her wacky sense of humour.

Well, after a good month, me and the dogs have developed quite a good relationship.  If they don’t annoy me too much I take them for a walk.  I even remember to feed them most nights.  Actually, I have to admit … they really have worked their way into my heart.  I actually look forward to being woken up with White Dogs tongue all over my face (I’m sure you noticed it in the photo).  Sometimes I even let them sleep on the end of the bed if Mr W. goes to work early and I haven’t quite gotten up.  And I can’t help but cuddle up with them on the couch while I’m watching telly … that is if they’re not all snuggled up with Mr W … and this bring us to a real bone of contention with me at the moment.  I just can’t get used to the fact that the dogs get more cuddles than me.

Mr W. says to me that he is just not a cuddly, touchy feely kind of guy … he likes his own space.  Meanwhile he is curled up on the couch with black dog on one side and white dog on the other.  Seriously, sometimes I wish I could grow fur.  Especially when he tells black dog what a beautiful girl she is.  Come on, my coat is shiny too!!!  I really thought Black Dog and I would be, well you know, best girlfriends … but gee whiz … she gets more compliments than I do.  Maybe White Dog and I have more in common that I first realised.  He is a very jealous dog … if Black Dog is getting attention then he wants in on it … perhaps we really aren’t that different.

Actually, Mr W. has even admitted that there are 3 spots in his world … and I’m second*.  The dogs are equal first.  And due to the fact that I was so dumbfounded about coming second, I can’t for the life of me remember what or who came third … beer perhaps?

pp xx

* Upon showing this piece to Mr W. he has moved me to Number 1.  The dogs are number 2 and 3 … depending on who has dug up the garden on said day (yesterday they both dug a hole … tough choice).  Hmmmm does he think this makes up for his Tuesday night near death experience?  Honey, if you’re reading … it doesn’t.  You’ll have to go just that little bit further.