The Contingency Plan

I've been thinking today that I've become a bit uptight as I've grown older and because of that, have less fun. I was a bit of a loose canon when I was younger. I don't mean verbally, but if I was dared to do something, I'd definitely do it. Whether it was dancing in the middle of the main street to the music blasting from the 'doosh doosh' cars to taking the 'Cowboy and Indian' theme of a work place Chriatmas party too far and dressing up as a cow with Gordon (udders and all) to the amusement and horror of all the half naked cool kids there, there wasn't much I was too afraid to do.

As I've mentioned in previous blogs, my family had a fun, loving and dramatic existance before my parents got divorced a few years back. My folks are both a little eccentric and have a great sense of humour and we all reflect their craziness, as much as my siblings and I would hate to admit it.

We were having one of those perfect summer nights where we were happily hanging out, listening to music, eating, talking and laughing when it came time for me to pick Natasha up from her very first high school dance party. Natasha and I were very close growing up and she considers me to be a second mum so this was a bitter-sweet occassion, but doesn't mean I had to act maturely.

Perhaps it was due to the warm weather, perhaps because we were reminising funny times with Mum's clients or maybe I was just plain hyperactive, but for some reason we thought it would be hilarious for me to dress up and embarass the shit out of Tash. My parents didn't think I was up for it so I had to prove them wrong.

So I started off with my look - teased, dishevelled bed hair, an old pair of tracksuit pants that had a thick elastic band on the top and bottom and sat way too high on both accounts, a short midrift singlet (oh the days when I could wear those!), a bad ass 80s tie from my Dad's bad ass 80's wardrobe, a pair of my Mum's old, naff Asian slippers, and Natasha's favourite dressing gown from when she was around four - it's bright fire-engine red, furry and just fitted.

And the moment I was dressed I was in character. So with my brother in tow as proof, I sped off in my 20-year old poo-brown Honda to our local high school, parked on a 45 degree angle out the front in the bus stop where everyone hangs out and proceeded to run around like a mad-woman, cross-eyed in the direction of the hall, yelling in a deep rain-man voice, "Tasha! Where are you Tasha? We miss you! Tasha come home!" I'd then stop and rock back and forth, hug myself and ask the kids walking by if they'd seen her. This proceeded for the five minutes it took for word to get back to Tash that her crazy-ass sister was outside looking for her.

By this time I was near the hall and could see her running from the building in my direction. After recovering from shock and embarrassment, she laughed and escorted me back to the car while I continued to rock and say, "You're not allowed to go again Tasha. We missed you. My Tasha." Lucky for both of us she has a good sense of humour.

Anyhow I'm hoping to unwind a lot more now that I'm not working so just imagine the grief we can potentialy put Wolfie through...