Oh honey, you won’t believe the day I’ve had…

16 Mar

I decided to walk home from work after a pleasing ale and take advantage of all this gorgeous rain and to soothe my agitated nerves. Said agitation culminated in me ringing the Goddess so she could laugh at my wringing.

So, feeling somewhat more at ease, I started to think of ways to distract myself. And the answer blinked at me with gorgeous red lights and jangling music: the Karachi tram. Now, who am I to refuse its call? It’s like refusing a lift from the Cat Bus.

Inside, the colours twirled with the beads as Karachi music blared and incense throbbed through the air. Everyone was laughing and chatting. I texted the Effusive Complimenter (who will now only answer to “Starling” after I playfully called her earlier today) to divulge my location, given her love for this chariot. Suddenly the new phone (now with less thwarting) rang and the EC Starling shrieked down the phone “DON’T GET OFF THE TRAM, DARLING BLOSSOM! I’M GETTING ON AT FEDERATION SQUARE!”

As befits the lass, she twirled on with attendants in tow and grappled me into my seat for a trademarked bear hug while singing my name*. As can only make sense, I was then dragged up and we all danced. We’d become our own Bollywood film with a dance routine. The sun set over Melbourne and we screeched and danced and trilled. Every time the lights went off, we’d scream even louder and make bird calls. We taught each other dance moves and were taught even more by the tram conductor. We twisted our limbs and jutted our torsos as all the anxieties and tensions bounced out. We were filmed and photographed and somewhere, a few guys found tambourines and started rattling them in time to our bodies.

The good EC Starling, her manservant and I then jumped off to claps and tottered down the street. Vodka and euphoria have the same effect: they make you stumble with glee, and so we stumbled down Swanston and rubbed against each other like kittens. Literally, for she called me purrkit as the manservant sang compliments to me. Then, after she twirled, dipped and kissed me in front of Cookie and we went our separate blissful ways and past the ever dependable Sonic Manipulator.

Melbourne was just lit so beautifully – every step through it all was euphoric. And now there are fireworks outside my apartment.

Welcome to what passes as fantastic in my life.

* The Effusively Complimenting Starling now sings my full name to the tune of “Georgie Girl”. Apparently she has a whole sequence figured out in her head like a sitcom intro. Me dancing with a life-sized cardboard cutout of Andrew McCarthy, trying on fake moustaches and dancing in my underwear. I’m not allowed to provide lyrics but the Manservant has devised a second line “she’s the best girl I’ve seen today”. Which was better than my proposed “she’s nuttier than a sundae of Bengay”.

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