This anecdote to me symbolises the laughter between friends. Then, now and always! It is a true story.
A puddle. Small and shallow but unmissable. In the middle of the trampoline.
The trampoline had been a great source of entertainment since my sister and I had received it as a Christmans present. Large black rectangle, surrounded by springs that either gave you an electric shock or caught the hairs on your legs if you dared get on or off. Certainly no safety padding. The skill was getting on and off without slipping between the springs and bars and 'knackering' yourself.
Hours were spent alone or in pairs (sometimes braving groups of three) jumping, doing tricks, double-jumping (a cruel but funny tactic against your fellow jumper). Unintentional exercise. My cousin Naomi and I would spend endless hours on the trampoline. Jumping till our legs were jelly then sitting in the middle, quietly bobbing up and down while we chatted. And laughed. Telling jokes and stories that would set us off into uncontrollable fits till we were breathless. Then we'd stop, look at each other and start all over again.
One of these particular days, as the trampoline was growing old with visible fading and stretching in the middle, we were once again caught in the grips of laughter when Naomi suddenly stopped. Her face went from a wide grin to one of shock and slight panic.
"Uh-oh."
"What?" I asked, coming to a slow chuckle.
"Um..."
She didn't have to say anything. The reason for her shock and panic became obvious as she slowly stood up (clumsily - it's hard to stand up gracefully on a trampline). Underneath her was a puddle. Shallow but unmissable. A slightly yellow tinge starting to spread across the surface. Towards me.
"Ewww...." a combination of repulsion and laughter. "You peed on the trampoline!"
We scrambled off that trampoline like it was a sinking ship. No thoughts or cares of electrice shocks or knackering. Only when we were safe on dry land were we free to let our emotions free - and the laughter flooded out.
"Careful, we don't wnat a second puddle!"
Tne minutes later the puddle was washed away and Naomi was wearing a new and dry pair of my underwear. No one would ever be the wiser.
Until now :)
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Freckle fraud
Reporting from Turtle Bay Resort, North Shore, Oahu, Hawaii.
I do believe that I have not seen one other freckly person since I've been in Hawaii. Did I somehow make it through some secret screening process that weeds out the 'unacceptable' skin from the others before you enter? Did my makeup work well enough to fool them into believing I have smooth, clear skin with no freckles? I do believe that I am a bit of a fraud here. There are some ridiculous skin colours here. When I say tanned skin I am talking about a whole different type of tan than the golden, healthy-glow-type of tan that is synonymous with Australia. This is a deep, I've-spent-hours-in-the-sun, leather-looking, glistening with oil and in twenty-years-I'll-regret-this-and-look-like-an-old-handbag kind of tan. And the worst thing is - they look fantastic! No matter what size they are they look toned without any cellulite in sight. They look like they belong on the beach. They look like the sun has dropped on them softly a silky, caramel coating. Then there's me. For whom the sun has seen my pale canvas and just thrown the caramel at me, flicking speckles of caramel over me randomly. Flick, flick. Missed a spot there. Don't forget the chest and hands. Some larger, mole-like splotches will break it up a bit.
As an aside, I am also in the minority by wearing hats. They seem to be an optional extra for beach-goers here. Especially for children. I haven't gone further than five metres from the hotel room without some sort of hat (it also helps to hide the top-frizz of the beach hair). On the beach this afternoon there were approximately 60 people. I counted maybe four or five people wearing a hat. And that is not an exaggeration. It seems the sun-smart message has not reached these people (most who are tourists from mainland US).
Aloha!
I do believe that I have not seen one other freckly person since I've been in Hawaii. Did I somehow make it through some secret screening process that weeds out the 'unacceptable' skin from the others before you enter? Did my makeup work well enough to fool them into believing I have smooth, clear skin with no freckles? I do believe that I am a bit of a fraud here. There are some ridiculous skin colours here. When I say tanned skin I am talking about a whole different type of tan than the golden, healthy-glow-type of tan that is synonymous with Australia. This is a deep, I've-spent-hours-in-the-sun, leather-looking, glistening with oil and in twenty-years-I'll-regret-this-and-look-like-an-old-handbag kind of tan. And the worst thing is - they look fantastic! No matter what size they are they look toned without any cellulite in sight. They look like they belong on the beach. They look like the sun has dropped on them softly a silky, caramel coating. Then there's me. For whom the sun has seen my pale canvas and just thrown the caramel at me, flicking speckles of caramel over me randomly. Flick, flick. Missed a spot there. Don't forget the chest and hands. Some larger, mole-like splotches will break it up a bit.
As an aside, I am also in the minority by wearing hats. They seem to be an optional extra for beach-goers here. Especially for children. I haven't gone further than five metres from the hotel room without some sort of hat (it also helps to hide the top-frizz of the beach hair). On the beach this afternoon there were approximately 60 people. I counted maybe four or five people wearing a hat. And that is not an exaggeration. It seems the sun-smart message has not reached these people (most who are tourists from mainland US).
Aloha!
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