What the hell is that on the floor?

Long brown balancing rock formationMaybe we had altitude dementia? Or maybe not. But at 3.00 am at 36,000 feet on a long flight back to Australia, my sister and I went absolutely stir crazy. Huddled under our little blankets giggling our noggins off, we woke our Dad sitting in front of us, as well as other passengers in our vicinity. We couldn’t help it. Have you ever tried to stifle hysterics? It only makes you laugh harder. That was us.

My sister needed to go to the toilet, and if you’ve ever used an aeroplane toilet and you are female, it’s not fun. If you are a male, I suggest you try this so you know what I’m talking about …

  • Grab a cactus in a pot and put it on the roof of your car on a gravel road, and have your mate ready to accelerate behind the wheel. (Not that a toilet seat is a cactus, but the pain of sitting in someone else’s urine puddle comes mighty close for a woman!)
  • Climb onto the roof of the car.
  • Now pull down your pants – no part of your clothing can touch the floor or it becomes soaked in a complete stranger’s filthy DNA. So you need to balance the clothing between your knees and ankles.
  • Now squat backwards and hover your nether-region just above the cactus, trying not to let your dangly bits touch the prickles.
  • Now … yell out to your mate to hit the accelerator on that bumpy road.
  • Then stay in that position for 30 seconds!

Now you know what it’s like for a woman going to the toilet in an aeroplane. Anyway, back to my story …

So my sister goes to the toilet and the “occupant” forgot to lock the door. She walks in to see a poor Indian lady “hovering” in the above position. She looks at my sister with sheer terror on her face as Sister quickly reverses and shuts the door. She scurries to the next toilet.

Now it’s my sister’s turn to be in the “hovering” position. Whilst suspended in that state she notices a vile stench permeating the cubicle. She can feel bile bubbling in her innards, but manages to hold it in. “What is that smell? It’s not coming from me”, she thinks. She looks around the tiny room and her eyes focus on an object on the floor. She focuses on the “log”. It’s a big brown turd! Just resting there. On its lonesome. She can’t help it and she starts laughing uncontrollably. She pictures this …

A poor soul high above the midnight clouds. Hovering over the same toilet in the same cubicle. And just when their “object” was about to leave their body, turbulence strikes! And the “object” starts swinging like a pendulum. Left. Right. Left. And all of a sudden it’s hanging by a point mid-swing, and then it’s released! It flings off and somersaults over the top of the stainless-steel bowl and lands on the floor. Intact.

My Sister runs back to our seat with her hand over her mouth. By the time she tells me her story, we are both out of control. We have gone mad. We are over-tired!

It was the funniest way to end our 4 weeks abroad.

© CEW 2015

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The problem with big boobs and sunbaking

Cookie crumbs end up in cleavage

For Women Only

Big boobs, big bums, big thighs and bold personalities are a Maltese trait. And it’s also what I’ve inherited from my ancestors – as I discovered this month when holidaying in Malta.

I’m not really one for swimming and sun-baking, probably because I’m not stick thin and am quite self conscious in bathers. But I love what I’ve discovered about the Maltese women and the way they embrace their bodies – especially in swimwear. They don’t give a stuff about what anyone else thinks! I really wish we had an attitude like this in Australia. I really wish “I” had an attitude like this.

Sitting on the gravel and rocks on the sea edge I was enthralled watching these women. Would I have the courage to throw down my sarong, bask in the sun and embrace my shape in my new bathers? I wasn’t quite sure.

I saw so many different shaped and sized women. Massive women – that must have been a size 30 – in bikinis! Their bums would have been the size of my coffee table back home, and their stomachs hung so far over the top of their bikini bottoms that from the front, you couldn’t tell they even had bikini-bottoms on. And do you know what? They didn’t care! They were having fun and embraced their curves, and fat, and rolls. I wished I could be like that.

There were women as white as snow (like me) through all shades to the deeply bronzed. From reed-thin to morbidly obese. From toned and firm to flabby and wobbly. I noticed some of the bigger women were firm, and some of the skinny women were flabby. It really was a mixed bag of body shapes, sizes and colours.

I needed to “toughen up Princess” and throw down the gauntlet! To stop stressing about what I looked like in bathers and enjoy my holiday, milky-skinned-flab and all. I untied my orange floral sarong, threw it to the side, and felt the Mediterranean sun on my skin for the first time.

And – it was time to get a sun tan! To go from milky-white to maybe … a deep beige??

For a whole week I spent at least half an hour a day sun baking and my skin eventually went from white to a light freckly caramel tone. I was so pleased with myself {smug look}. I got quite sun-burned one particular day, and when I got home and looked in the mirror I had white lines across my neck. It looked like someone had tried to slit my throat numerous times – with white chalk! What the hell had happened??

White lines along tanned neckI couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I freaked out. Had my saggy 50 year old neck lolled downwards causing a crease that the sun couldn’t penetrate? I tried to re-enact all the different ways my skin sagged to work out how the white lines appeared. But I couldn’t.

I did notice however, that when I was swimming, my big-buxom-bosoms had a bit of trouble submerging into the sea water! Could it be that when they were floating on the surface like buoys they were actually pushing my chest skin upwards causing the creases? Maybe. So when I was swimming next I tried to push the bloody things underwater to get sun on my neck. It was a losing battle! I tried to duck underwater to get my face wet at one stage but because of my two power-floaties I couldn’t get the top of my head underwater! I had to get my sister to put her hand on top of my head and bleedin’ well push me under! My boobs must be air filled! No chance of drowning here. But still, I couldn’t account for how the white lines appeared.

I dragged myself out of the sea water and reclined back on my beach towel amongst the other bodies vying for a tan. It was then I had my epiphany! I have very nice bust-supported bathers. My boobs do not sag at all in them! When I was reclining my orbs reached towards the heavens above like twin mountains – then it happened.

As my head hit the sand, my boobs lost their centre of gravity and tilted towards my neck. The freakin’ things practically landed on the sand above my shoulders. When they tilted backwards on their axis my chest skin “gathered” and my creases were created up near my neck! This is what happens when a big busted women lays back too far in “E” cups! Yes, E cups. E = enormous, or elephant!

Then, when I stood up, they came crashing back towards earth like a couple of meteorites, pulling my neck and chest skin taut again. Mystery solved!

Oh crikey. What chance did I have?

I needed to change the way I sunbaked from now one. There was only one way that worked. Sitting up and reclining to about a 45 degree angle so “gravity” kept my boulders headed more towards my feet, rather than towards my head.

So how does a big-busted women sun-bake? Why … vertically … of course!

Does Malta’s monumental erection make the cut?

What erection define’s your country?

As an Australian, we are quite proud that the Sydney Opera House and Harbour Bridge are architectural monuments that represent us worldwide. China has the Great Wall {which I’ve been told can be seen from space}, France has the Eiffel Tower and the USA has the Statue of Liberty. {I bet you thought I was going to say Bill Clinton then, didn’t you? Ummm, when I say erection, I actually mean monuments that have been erected, NOT, well, you know…}

I’ve started my vacation in the Mediterranean island of Malta, which is a small island not far from Sicily and Italy. It’s my heritage and one I quite proudly want to investigate and learn more about. I had heard about a strange looking statue that was erected in the centre of a roundabout and greets visitors just outside the airport.

Statue looks like erectionI mentioned it to our taxi driver, who quite excitedly knew what I was talking about, and suggested I grab my camera ready to take a photo. He said “I keep driving round and round for you to get good photo”. As we neared the roundabout I saw a round-looking head-like statue peaking up above the tree fronds. My first thought was “That can’t be right.” We drove closer and closer and I really couldn’t believe what I was seeing. My dad was sitting in the front seat with the taxi driver talking in Maltese and they were both laughing hysterically. I managed to get an in-focus photo of the “projectile” as we kept driving round and round it.

To this day I can’t really believe what I saw – and what I photographed. But the eye doesn’t lie.

Rising from the earth is a giant erection of, well, it would seem, an erection.  Whatever it is supposed to be, has anyone told the Maltese people that it looks kind of like, well, a you-know-what?

Maybe Sigmund Freud would say Malta has “little” country syndrome. And is trying to make a statement about small things. I really don’t know.

Should Malta be defined by this monument?  You be the judge.

© 2015 CEW