Feverish flashbacks of young love and farts.

​I was ill yesterday.

Not ill as in the hip hop slang terminology for ‘the best’, or the contraction for ‘I will’, but more of the ‘Sweet baby jesus on a crisp bread why is all my skin crawling like I’m being assaulted by those scarab beetles from ‘The Mummy’? And who replaced every light in the house with flood lights? Probably the same jack-off that poured a bucket of sand into my skull and every single joint in my body.’ Kind of ill.

Naturally, the wif, being the incredibly kind hearted person that she is, nurtured and cared for me as I lay groaning and dying slowly in a broken heap of what once was her husband. The whole time, cleaning the house, cooking food for the week and wrangling our two foot tornado of a demon-spawn.

Yes, I get the man flu. But I will say, and I think it’s to my credit, I did manage to keep my shit together pretty well this time around. I honestly think taking on the parental duties over the past few months has helped me become more sympathetic to the plight of a wife that must care for a husband on his man flu induced death bed.
But I was dying none the less and so I had the privilege of having my life flash before my eyes.
And once I accepted my inevitable and oncoming demise, I told her I love her and that I have no idea why she’s with me. Which triggered an immediate hurling backward in time to recall our first ‘date’.
I write ‘date’ with inverted commas because we never honestly actually dated. But she did come around to my house once to watch a movie.

Let me set the scene in my house that held all the romance of that pit in the basement from ‘Silence of the lambs’. Only there was more lotion in my house.

My first rental was with my older brother at a rate of $75 a week. It was a quaint little two bedroom house that resembled a retrofitted shipping container in size and was, I would estimate, about three to four hundred years old judging by the carpet.
We came to the agreement that I would get the biggest bedroom if my brother could have his room and the lounge room as his own. He then went about setting up two of the single largest home theatre systems I have ever seen crammed into the confined of a 2x2m room. It should be noted that the lounge room had a single beanbag chair in a prime, precisely calibrated listening position for one single person to thoroughly enjoy their visual and auditory experience. 

We had very few visitors.

It was also at a point where by brother and I were savagely into our bodybuilding. This was long before the social media bodybuilder or that fucking annoying ‘Brah’ or ‘Aesthetic’ culture popped up too. We trained hard and clean and ate absolutely everything in sight. And by everything I mean steak, chicken, tuna, eggs, toast, potatoes and vegetable juice because nobody has time to cook and eat vegetables for fucks sake! And that was pretty much it.
Now, imagine cooking all that kind of food, the kind of food that sits in the monochrome spectrum of white to brown, in a shitty tiny apartment with no rangehood, all on a George Forman grill.

Our house, bed linen, bath towels, clothes, everything reeked of cooked meat and protein farts.

Plus we were both fucking slobs, so there were empty tuna tins EVERYWHERE.

Also my brother had some amazing idea to use egg cartons as soundproofing so we were stockpiling them in a corner. And when we ran out of toilet paper, we threw the tube on the floor. You had to wade through a shin deep pile of rolls just to use the shitter.

Add to that the fact that I am by no means capable of doing grownup things by myself so my bed was a mattress on the floor because bedframes seemed to be too difficult. Oh, plus I was a massive nerd at the time so half my huge room was a computer desk with a giant dual monitor setup and gaming pc (again, this was before ‘gaming pc’s’ so it was just a powerful computer with a light in the case.)

Romantic as fuck right?

Our first ‘date’.

The yet to be wif came to my shit hole of a house. I opened the door, the reek of sour, day old cooked meat and farts slapped her in the face. She walked in to a scene that looked part landfill, part hi-fi store demo room. My brother was sitting in his beanbag chair ignoring the two of us despite her saying hi. He did however make an off the cuff remark about how she would have to pay a portion of the rent if she were staying overnight.

After navigating the mess of cables and empty tuna tins, turning right at the toilet door which was trembling as it tried to contain all the paper tubes, we made it to my room.

I lead her in, asked if she would like to take a seat (there was one computer seat and a mattress on the floor) I didn’t offer her a drink because I already had my bottle of water and figured she could drink from that. Plus the only other consumable liquids in the house was V8 vegetable juice. I also didn’t offer her anything to eat because frankly I had nothing remotely appealing to consume.
After making some idle chit chat while sitting on my beaten up old mattress I asked if she wanted to watch a movie.

She said yes.

And I turned on the Spongebob Squarepants movie.

And the rest is history.

I always say I have no idea how I got her and now I hope you can all agree with me.

I chalk it up to me either having a terrific body, or an outstanding sense of humour.

Seriously though, it’s a credit to her that she didn’t leap out the window and run down the street while calling the police at the same time.

Mind you, in that situation, I guess the best thing to do is sit down calmly and quietly and hope it’s all over with quickly.

Coming on 11 years and she’s still waiting patiently for the police to barge in and recue her.


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