How the silly old coot failed his license

Old man on Harley Davidson

I couldn’t believe that my Dad failed his motorbike license.  He had been riding motorcycles for as long as I could remember.  When he was in his 60’s he bought himself his dream bike – a Harley Davidson! – and as his license had expired, he needed to renew it. This is what the silly old goat did …

To get his motorbike license he had to ride around the streets (on an agreed route) with a motorbike license “tester” following him (on another motorbike) and grading him on how he handled the bike and whether he obeyed the road rules.

The scene was set for his perfect day … the sun was shining, the birds were tweeting, and the beautiful roar of the motor bike was bliss in the old man’s ears.  Oh, his dream was about to come true.  Not long now till he could mount his own Harley and feel the power between his thighs on his first long ride to Glasshouse Mountains!

Everything was going extremely well … until he saw the “tester” quickly overtake him at high speed.  Dad didn’t want to lose him, so he swerved into the next lane, throttled the bike, and followed him, making sure he “stayed on his tail”!

He couldn’t believe the speed and remarkable swerving skills the tester displayed.  He presumed it was part of his motorbike road test.  Maybe he needed to do exactly as the tester did to pass and get his license.  So he increased his speed to match that of the tester, weaved in and out of the traffic (ensuring he used his indicators of course) knowing he would be impressing the tester with his previous years of experience at handling motorcycles.  Nothing was too hard for this old bikie, he could keep up with these young bucks!  He would not be outwitted or outridden!

Dad wondered why they seemed to be taking a different route to that agreed to, but he didn’t care.  As long as he got his license so he could ride his dream bike, that’s all that mattered.  The tester slowed down and turned into the long road leading into a cemetery.

The tester finally stopped his bike.  Dad stopped behind him.  The tester dismounted and started to remove his helmet.  Dad got off his bike, undid his helmet, all the while wondering why the tester made him ride into the cemetery, a funeral obviously happening not too far from where they were parked.

Dad walked up to the tester – and looked into the face of a complete stranger who said  “Are you running late for the funeral too mate?”  Oh crap.  He had no idea who this bloke was, but it certainly was NOT the tester from the licensing authority.  What had he done?  Who the hell had he been following?  He looked around perplexed.  What the???  Where was the motorcycle license tester?

He quickly donned his helmet, hoofed his leg over the bike, revved it and rode back to the testing office.  He found his particular tester and asked “Well mate, did I get my license?”   He replied “No!  I don’t know what happened, but one minute I was behind you, then you took off like a speed demon and I bloody well couldn’t keep up with you! So no … you didn’t get your license!”

 FAIL

PS:  He eventually got it!

© 2015 CEW

 

We terrorized her with an earthquake hoax

Cracked groundI’m a horrible daughter. And I have a tendency to lead my nieces and nephews astray.  I’m the bat-poop crazy aunt that all the kids love; the same aunty that terrifies their parents.  I’ve written blog posts about the atrocious things my children have done in the name of fun; and I’m starting to realise they may get it from me! If it’s genetic, it’s my parents fault, not mine.

One holiday weekend we were staying on my brother’s cattle farm in the Australian countryside. My mum has a caravan on his farm that she sleeps in when we visit.  It gives her peace and quiet away from all of her grandkids, as she’s now in her 70’s.

I took the kids shopping one day, and on the way back to the farm, I told them stories about how Nanny was “absolutely terrified” of earthquakes. They were all roaring with laughter.  It was during this trip that I hatched a clever scheme … one that would give us all a good laugh if it went according to plan.  I devised that when Nanny went for her afternoon nap in the caravan, I would gather the kiddies all together and we would surround the caravan, then start gently rocking it from side to side.  I had them convinced that if it woke Nanny up, she would think it was an earthquake!  I had them in hysterics in the car, and they were begging me to “do it today Aunty Cath!”

It just so happened that as soon as we arrived back on the farm … you guessed it … Nanny was in the caravan, fast asleep.

I gathered all the children around me like a mother hen and told them that even though they were laughing hysterically, we had to be very quiet or Nanny would know it was us!  One of the oldest children’s job was to hide behind the car and use their mobile phone to film Nanny coming out of the caravan. The rest of them then surrounded the van, and I had my burly strong sons on the corners to get that van a rockin’.

I counted … one, two, three, GO! … and they put their shoulders to the metal sides and put all the strength their little bodies could muster into starting a rhythm. It began to gently sway, then the biggest grandkids got that van shaking from side to side.  They were red-faced and having the time of their lives.  We heard a noise inside, but true to their word, they kept that van rocking.

Suddenly – the caravan door burst open, and Nanny flew through the opening screaming “E A R T H Q U A K E!”.  She ran down the steps and bolted for her life, completely disoriented.  By this time, the kids were screaming with laughter.  Nanny saw the older child duck behind the car with their camera in hand, and as she looked around and gathered her bearings, noticed her beloved grandchildren’s heads popping around the caravan, all roaring and screaming with laughter and love, having the time of their lives.

She put her hands on her hips, and bellowed at the top of her lungs … “CATHY!”

Why do I get the blame for everything? And how did she know it was me?

© 2015 CEW

Why drivers love to hate me

Lady in car singing her heart outWhy do other drivers hate me?  Why does my family call me “The driver from hell”?  I don’t speed, I always check twice, I make sure when I stop I can see the wheels of the car in front of me – what’s wrong with everyone?  They all say it’s because …

I’m the driver that plods along the freeway in a 100km zone, sitting on 80, oblivious to what’s happening around me, singing and trilling to my little heart’s content.   When other drivers pass me blasting their horn and giving me the bird, I think “I must know them” and cheerily wave back.  Then I see spittle squirting out of a purple mottled face and wonder what their problem is.  Then I notice my speedo and think “Oops, I did it again.”

I’m the one that was driving on a long dark road at night and couldn’t see a single car in front of me.  When I looked in my rear vision mirror I noticed a mile long row of headlights behind me and said to my sons, “Wow, look at all the traffic behind us, there must be an accident somewhere.”  Then sons blasted me and said “It’s YOU Mum.  You are SO embarrassing, drive faster!”  And I sing to them … “Oops, I did it again.”

I’m the one that was driving the boys home from school one day, ever so relaxed in pixie land, when a bicycle went past my car. The rider screaming at me through my open window “I can bloody well ride faster than you lady!”  Sons ducked down hoping no-one recognised them.

I’m the one that was driving through a 40km work zone, and I noticed a police car stuck in the traffic on the opposite lane and he started waving his hands in the air at me and flashing his headlights.  I said to sons “Oooh, look at that nice policeman waving at me.”  Son said “Slow down Mum, he’s abusing you and trying to get your attention.  If he had room to turn around he’d come after us.”  Well, that was a new one.

I’m the one that pulled out into speeding traffic but refused to speed with the rest of the lunatics.  I got followed by an irate driver tooting his horn and flashing his headlights trying to get past me, but I refused to speed or pull over,  I wasn’t going to break the law!  In fact, I got a wee bit giggly.  You should have seen his face through my rear view mirror, he looked like an enraged grizzly bear with his face squashed up against his windscreen and his mouth opening and closing like he was trying to catch an invisible snapper.  When I stopped at the traffic lights and he pulled up beside me he wound down his window and was screaming abuse at me and using words my poor little ears had never heard.  I gave him the biggest smile I could and waved back like a ditzy baa-lamb and said “Jesus loves you!”  He started throwing things at me out of his car window.  My son nearly got hit in the head by a cigarette lighter!

What’s wrong with people?  I think other drivers hate me because I’m a good law abiding citizen.  Time for a new song …

“Doh, a deer, a female deer, ray, a drop of golden suuuuuuun…..”

Image courtesy of: Freepik

 

 

Worst moment – when you realise it’s his ball!

Squirrel in the snowWhat do you do when your hand accidentally contracts around your colleague’s testicle?  That was the dreadful predicament I found myself in recently.  I probably shouldn’t talk about this horrific workplace accident, and especially not blog about it, but I can’t help myself.  I just can’t take myself seriously.  What’s the use of having these ridiculous moments if I can’t share them with the world!

I related this story at a family dinner because I needed to spill my guts and confess my accidental actions.  But instead of my family being horrified, some of them were choking on their food and roaring with laughter.  Here’s what happened.

I’m a short 5 ft 2 1/2″.  Maybe I’m a tall midget.  Or a short giant.  Whatever.  Anyway, my colleague is over 6 foot tall I’d guess.  I was on a mission to get to the photocopier quickly, and in full throttle mode I power walked around a corner.  With hands swinging like a little marching girl I turned the corner and bumped so hard into my colleague that my face actually bounced off his chest.  I think I even got a taste of his navy blue jumper.  In fact, my face hit and bounced back so hard that we both “gripped” our hands instinctively.

Luckily for me, his hands jumped upwards and gripped onto my upper arms and stopped me landing flat on my back on the floor – where I probably would have knocked myself senseless on the reception desk.

Unfortunately for him, my right hand gripped in shock, and for a split second I wondered what the ‘ball’ was that I was tightly gripping onto.  Then I knew!  In my head in that split second I realised it was the solid outline of his testicle.  {In Australia, this action is called a “squirrel grip”.} 

I let go.  You could say I literally dropped the ball.  We stood stock still.  He looked down into my face, stunned, his eyes so big I could see completely around his pupils.  And I was looking up with my mouth agape.  I didn’t know what to say.  Neither did he.  I needed to break the ice … and quickly … so I blurted out “Just so you know, that’s not the worst thing I’ve done in my life!”  Then I quickly turned and scurried away.  Behind me, I suddenly heard his bellowing laughter.  I was too embarrassed to ask what was so funny and neither of us have ever mentioned the encounter since.

Luckily for me, my colleagues all know I have an out of control sense of humour, especially if I’m on a sugar high.  Maybe this story will come out at our next social function.  Then again … maybe not.

© 2015 CEW

Originally posted on my old blog site

I caught fire in the kitchen

blue flame on gas hot plateSo I’m a kitchen disaster. It’s not my fault that my kitchen hates me!  Some old crone must have cursed it. If the old adage is true that you can win a man’s heart through his stomach – mine would have run for the hills years ago, or be dead by now. Which would have saved him from the next few decades of culinary mayhem.

I’ve cooked a sausage casserole that looked so X-rated that my boys refused to eat it, and when I posted the photo of it on social media, Facebook reminded me not topromote sexual enhancement products as it was against their policy.  I’ve cooked a lemon meringue pie that tasted like ear wax, gingerbread men that my children spat over the back fence to the neighbour’s dog which fed the mutt for years, and steaks that damaged teeth and fattened up the dentist’s wallet!  And that’s just to name a few.

Unfortunately I’ve also started two fires in my home. I wish I could say I haven’t caused psychological and emotional fear in my husband and boys {sigh}, but that would be a lie.

The first fire I started was when making a cup of tea for my husband with our new kettle that sat on the gas hotplates. The water had boiled and the kettle was whistling away its new tune.  I reached over to pick up the kettle – but didn’t turn the flame off.  My not-so-sexy too-big flannelette pyjamas had dangly sleeves that touched the flame.  I watched a pretty blue flame jump onto my arm and I was hypnotically mesmerised as I stared at the flame running up the length of my sleeve to my shoulder. Then I realised I was on fire! I screamed and Husband came running into the kitchen.  I did the “drop and roll” manoeuvre in an attempt to put myself out.

He found me horizontal on the cold tiled floor, thrashing around, flapping my hands all over my body. He couldn’t see the flames, just heard me screaming that I was on fire!   He just stood there, wondering what the hell I was doing with a perplexed eyebrow look.  He thought I was doing some sort of german-zombie slap-dance. “Why didn’t you help me” I squawked?  He was stunned silent.  Obviously I impressed him with my Australia’s-Got-Talent kitchen performance.

I put myself out and noticed that my floral pyjamas had brown patches up the sleeve where the fire had caught.

Husband looked at me and just rolled his boggle eyes.

The 2nd fire was because I didn’t know I was supposed to pierce sausage skins before I cooked them. (Oh no, bleedin’ sausages again – no wonder he’s banned me for life from ever cooking them.) Anyway, I put sausages under our grill and turned it onto high.  Part way through the cook I could hear a “whooshing” and “sizzling” sound, so I bent and peeked inside the grill.  It was so pretty!  My sausages were bulging as they heated up, they swelled and then the top burst like a balloon and an arrow of fat squirted straight up onto the electric elements.  I kept watching – then the fat caught on fire! Oh hell – the grill was on fire! I screamed, and Husband ran in and saved the day.

Husband looked at me, didn’t say a word, and rolled his eyes. Again.  If he rolls his barney-googles at me one more time I will poke the bloody brown orbs out with an ice-pick!

At least the house didn’t burn down. He could have at least been grateful for that small miracle.

© 2015 CEW

When heroes have to be rescued by heroes

A superheroA true story about two brothers and their idiotic plan to attract girls … 

Two young men (brothers – and NOT my sons!) were on the beach, conspiring about how to attract girls.  They came up with a plan; an allegedly brilliant and fool-proof scene they would enact, that would have the young women flocking to them.  I will call these brothers M and B.

The plan:  B was going to swim out quite far and pretend to get into difficulties.  He would call out to his older brother, M, to help him.  Both of them would be quite loud to attract the attention of the girls around them, and when they had an audience, M would power-swim out, save his brother and drag him back to shore.  Who could resist a real hero?  The rest would be history, as they say.

How the scene “actually” played out:

B swam out into the beautiful sparkling azure waters of the bay; and when he thought he was far enough away from the shore, turned and called out to his brother for help.  M made a point of calling back and said he would be there soon.  When M noticed some of the bikini-clad girls watching, like a superhero’s call to action he puffed out his bronzed Mediterranean chest, jogged into the water and dived into an oncoming wave.  Unfortunately, M wasn’t very coordinated.  When he saw the wave, he attempted to dive under it (like he envisioned), but instead belly-flopped onto the top of the wave.  He began his “power-swim” slightly winded.

As M was free-styling out, he had no idea that his uncoordination meant he didn’t quite “look” the part.  Most free-stylers can coordinate their arm strokes and breathing.  M couldn’t.  So he had to free-style towards B with his head flicking from side to side as he breathed above the water.  His mop of pitch-black hair spun from side to side and looked like a long haired dog shaking itself after a drenching.  After a few more awkward strokes, M began cursing in his head that his “bloody brother” had swum out too far!

B was watching his brother’s head swivel from side to side, water particles spraying wildly.  And his not so graceful freestyle-arms were not gliding through the water at all like they were supposed to, but were now splashing through the water, causing him to look like an uncoordinated imbecile.  B was cursing under his breath now, because he was getting bloomin’ well tired of treading water.  How much longer would he have to wait for his idiot brother to get there?

M exhausted himself before he got to his brother.  He was only at the half way point when he realised he was starting to take mouthfuls of water in; and as much as his short Maltese legs were kicking at a hundred miles an hour under the water like duck’s paddles, he seemed NOT to be getting closer to B.

B was in real difficulty now too.  Bloody M wasn’t going to make it at all!

The girls on the shore were now pointing at them both and yelling something as the crisis began to unfold.

Luckily for the brothers, there were “real” life guards on the shore.  Within minutes, both M and B were rescued by the real heroes, and as they say, the rest is history.

 © 2015 CEW

Originally posted on my old blog site

 

The evil prank that stopped my husband’s heart

Terrifying black deadly snakeYou DON’T want to hear from your child … “Mum, if we tell you something, will you promise not to get us into trouble?” Oh Lord, what had my 12 and 14 year olds done when I was out shopping? The boys and my husband were extremely quiet, and there was a tense atmosphere in our home. Something, not good, had definitely gone down.

I thought for a moment, looked at both boys, and slowly said “Okay. I’m sure if you’ve done something wrong Dad would have dealt with it. What have you boys done now?”. {When I came home from shopping I asked Husband what was wrong as he looked like a grizzly bear that had eaten vinegar. He put up his hand and shook his head. I knew he wasn’t able to speak. Ohhhh; it must be REALLY bad and I’d find out eventually. It looked like the time was now.}

Sons sat opposite me at our kitchen bench and told me what they had done to their Dad … this time!

We live opposite a lot of land that has cattle on it, and in the summer we must be careful of snakes coming into our residential estate. In Australia in summer, we can get days as hot as 40 degrees (which is 104 Fahrenheit), and a week of this weather can be very stressful. This extremely hot day, sons went for a ride on their scooters around the block and found a dead snake on the footpath. They explained to me that they used the front wheel of their scooter and “sawed” the snake’s head off so they wouldn’t get hurt with the dead snake’s fangs and venom, put the snake’s body on their scooter, then sneaked it home. Just so you know, Australia has some of the deadliest snakes in the world!

I started to break out in a sweat, because when their colluding little heads get together it usually means one thing only – trouble!

Son explained that when they got home, they put the snakes body around the paint tins in our garage, so that when their dad went outside he would think there was a snake in the garage. They thought it would be funny.

Our garage is a bit like their man-cave. When the garage door is up the view is incredible, looking over the green wedge; and as far as the eye can see, there are no houses to block the beautiful panoramic view of the mountains in the distance. It’s the perfect place to contemplate the day, or even just relax in a peaceful space.

Son continued to tell me the story: “So dad went into the garage and we followed him. He saw the snake and put his arms out so we wouldn’t get close and he yelled out “SNAKE!” We said “Don’t worry Dad, we’ll save you” and we ran past him into the garage.”

Apparently Big brother picked up the snake by the tail and swung it around like it was a lasso then let it go and flung it into the paddock across the road.

When they turned around, laughing their noggins off, their father looked like he was having a seizure! He couldn’t even speak to them as he was stuttering, and grasping his chest. He couldn’t comprehend what he’d just seen. Sons, still laughing, said “It’s alright Dad, it was dead! We cut it’s head off before we bought it home!” They burst out laughing before realising their Dad did not find it one bit funny. All he could think of was his boys put themselves in grave danger and he couldn’t fathom it was another one of their pranks.

They sat in front of me and finished their story. Both of them were shame-faced.

I looked from Son 1 to Son 2, and couldn’t speak. I kept my lips clamped together and the pressure build up caused my face to turn bright red. I couldn’t hold it in any longer, and roared with laughter. How could I get them into trouble.

It was sheer brilliance!

© 2015 CEW

Originally posted on my old blog site