Playing the hand you’re dealt

13/11/2012 § 9 Comments

I asked the girl at Parramasala if is ok for men to have their hands tattooed. She said it is so I described what I wanted. I didn’t get what I wanted but I got a henna tattoo and that’s fine.
It was supposed to have gone from my ring finger and down into my palm.
Quite a few years ago I lost my wedding ring in the surf. I thought the henna tattoo would be a good way to celebrate our wedding anniversary. And it would have been appropriate this year because this year we had a Parra-parramasala anniversary.

My wife has just begun working for a hotel chain. As part of her gruelling training regime the company keeps taking her to dine at hotel restaurants. Last Thursday it was the one at Parramatta. When the boss told her and her colleagues where they were going she piped up and said that her husband (that’s me) works in Parramatta. He said he would see if he could get us a room for the night. When she told him it was a couple of nights after our anniversary he decided to make sure it happened.
So after work I strolled up to the hotel, checked in and dumped our stuff in the room. I met her and her work mates in the lobby when they arrived and then, while they did the hotel tour, went to the gym and pool.
Then off I went to the Bollywood block party. It was going off. Great atmosphere and a general feeling of fun. I had a curry and a wander around and watched the singing and dancing and stuff. I could have stayed longer but my wife called to say they were having coffee and I could join them.
When I got there they told me we had been upgraded to the mega suit (not it’s real name). So when her mates had left we got our stuff from the small room and relocated. Awww, and there was a bucket of wine waiting for us.
Next morning we had a big breakfast and my wife left for a train to the city. I went back to the room and climbed back into bed to watch cartoons. Nice.


The cake is a lie

28/06/2012 § Leave a comment

Birthday cakes are a special treat at my work because we have a small staff. Last month our editor did well because the boss thought the plebs would forget so he brought along a selection of delicious pastries. I had a slice of the big cake and was keen to sample the pastries after lunch. But no. Editor left early with the box of pastries to share with her family. Outrageous. Etiquette demands the left-over cakes be left in the fridge to be whittled away by those who actually turn up to work in the office. It’s not really a big deal of course but when I got home I must have shared the sadness of lost pastries.

So my wife devised a plan for my upcoming birthday. She had been told by the crabby owner at our local well-known patisserie franchise that he could not be bothered getting in the cake she wanted to order for me. This prompted her to spend a whole day making all manner of tiny pastries. A whole day. There was enough to feed an army of happy but not terrible fit soldiers. My birthday came and the whole family pitched in to try and make a dent in the massive pastry pile.
There was cake too. But this was hijacked by my daughter who rode my birthday coattails because she lives in the country now and decided to double up while everyone was together. She and her friends had designed a magnificent cake with all manner of yumminess. They drew a schematic on her phone and submitted it to my wife for baking.
This is the drawing and the actual cake:

My young nephew compared it to cow dung and made sure everyone heard him say it at least once. But we didn’t care because it was yummy. And cake is a luxury item so you can’t complain about it. Just get in there and see how far you can go. It was a good day with more than enough sweetness for two birthdays.

So it is with great heaviness of heart that I conclude this post on a sour note. No cake for me at work this birthday. Same as last year. Don’t worry about it team, just let me share some of yours.

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