Pinchesville. Population: me

1 Dec


There are pockets of delirium that the Seagull and I share, when our natures are in perfect alignment. Those times when I know that even deeper than our shared blue eyes, upturned nose, curls and fingers lies something deeper, something shared that is not so immediately apparent to others (and even me sometimes). That’s the fun of watching this little goddess unfurl: just as she discovers all the intricacies of a new world, I’m discovering all the intricacies of her.

Today, we took advantage of my day off and set about the city. Naturally, this was after the hallowed lounge in bed to read books, natter, drink tea and discuss how she is a magnificent Superhero Pablo. We set off in a taxi (for she loves the taxi, just like her mother) and went to my work. Based on her hour there, she is naturally under the impression her mother yaks to excited people all day and plays with toys at her coworkers’ desks. That this is rather close to the truth should not be a fact lingered upon greatly.

After lunch with some workmates (she demanded sausages and God knows they’re plentiful at Croatian restaurants), another taxi home and naps, we hit the road again within 20 minutes of waking. This time a tram ride before alighting at Outre where the Seagull’s Yoshitomo Nara couture was celebrated as she literally shimmied around the gallery, enchanting the owners and delighting in the pieces displayed. The Seagull was so receptive to it all that the lasses bestowed upon her a gift of a gigantic sticker. They were mulling over which one to give, saying “no, she’s cooler than your average kid, we have to give her something special and not the usual stupid stuff” before handing over an incredibly cool bigfoot sticker and telling her the story behind him (as the Seagull was possibly just thinking “blah blah blah Bigfoot blah blah blah sticker…. STICKY STICKY STICKY FUNTIME NOW!”). The oestrogen was surging so potently I think we all synced.

Naturally, flushed with hipster maternal pride, I ended up not only picking up my order but putting in another for some Shepard Fairey pieces. Well played, Outre, well played indeed.

Afterwards, we sashayed up Bourke St as the Seagull danced, sang and squawked before decamping at Pellegrinis to stock up on tomato-sauced carbs, coffee and sweet sweet watermelon granita.

Patrons of that fine establishment would have possibly noticed the look of euphoria on my face. Why? We’ve made it. Out from the hills, out from the ennui, rambling about and loving the world we live in. She sees the world around her, seeks it out to explore every nuance and treasure and knows that it’s all just a series of wonderful adventures.

And she holds my hand all the way.

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