Today my dog almost got his head kicked in by a Shetland Pony. Who knew they could be so territorial? Well, certainly not me. That pony stalked my dog all the way from the paddock behind the macadamia trees, back up to the house mum and I were inspecting as a potential rental. Luckily it was behind a fence otherwise I would’ve fallen to me knees and shouted in terrible distress ‘Run, Max, Run!’.
Anyways, when surveying a potential home you must then go over the pros and cons.
Pros: Fairly private, rural, access to free macadamias (because free food is my highest priority. Pretty sure I only wanted to move into my fifth family home because of the Mulberry tree), big cupboards to store inordinate amounts of crap, two bathrooms with plenty of space for all our products (enough to fill a small pharmacy), and the wardrobe, in the room I sprayed my mind juices on, is roughly the size of a bomb shelter, etc.
Cons: My dog might get eaten by a Shetland Pony. Amongst other things.
We have recently been considering rentals with vicious miniature horses, ever since the new neighbours relayed plans to remove all trees on their side of the fence, which would leave our lounge room, bathroom and mum’s bedroom window exposed to anyone who may have an accidental looksie.
Whaddya mean I can’t strut around naked in my own bathroom without the curtains drawn, let alone anywhere else? Suffering Succotash…
‘Yes, never mind the removing of the atheistically pleasing trees that provide deep and natural shade, we’ll replace them with a 6ft high paling fence!’
Oh, how wonderful, watch me wither and die in the heat of an Australian summer, why don’t you? Along with my dog, who has a coat like a freakin’ sheep.
I’m just overreacting. That’s what you get for growing up on acreage where the fence line isn’t just an arm’s reach away.
Mum once pondered ‘what is it with humans and their privacy?’
I say it’s because home is the only place where you don’t have to give a crap.
The moment the old dude down the back starts waving to you at 9am, while your hanging out washing in your cartoon sheep pajamas, and you haven’t showered, you’ve got ratty hair, droopy, bloodshot eyes, and, after waking, have the mood of a disturbed Tasmanian Devil, is the moment when you realise privacy is paramount not only to your own sanity, but also to the matter of public safety.
Home is the place where you rely on the fact that nobody can see you in your ‘I only date superheroes’ Justice League t-shirt, or hear you belting out Queen, most likely out of key (as your mother so kindly reminds you so), or any other stirring power ballad.
That shit is private, I say.
Private until you tell the entire world – or the twenty or so people who actually read your blog – on the internet.
But at least you can neither see nor hear me. So, that point is clearly invalid.
My god, how did you ever get reasonable marks on your argumentative essays…
Because, I’m Batman.
Batman is the answer to all life’s questions. That and bacon … and possibly free food.
What was I talking about again?
(Oh, yeah, and don’t you think the title of this post sounds like one of those ridiculously long and unrelated Fallout Boy or Panic at the Disco song titles? I mean, how can I possibly remember or differentiate tracks when one’s ‘Lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off’ and the other’s ‘I’m like a lawyer with the way I’m always trying to get you off’? What? Do they say that in the lyric? Is there any correlation at all?! WHAT DOES IT MEAN? I’m sure if I truly cared I’d figure it out, but I just want to know what the hell that song is called that I heard on the radio!)