True Crime

Homelife Crisis 1 Comment

Hey. How’s your week going? Mine has been a little odd. Surprise…. You’d think, really, that my interactions with random acts of weirdness would have topped out on Sunday, when I witnessed the drunken port-a-loo door banger at City2South. But no! I’ve got closer to true crime than that and have had firsthand experience of what goes on inside a criminal mind…

It all started with a lunch date with the Grumpster on Tuesday. It’s the only type of date we can manage, as our eyes are drooping by 7pm and 8pm is about the latest we can stay awake with his gym schedule and my tri one. We don’t really go out for dinner as the conversation is merely a series of yawns shared back and forth. (At least we have proof that neither of us is a psychopath: we can both transmit yawns).

Between you and me, he claims it’s his gym schedule, but I know it’s just a cover story. Now you have to promise to keep this secret, because I shouldn’t be telling you that my husband has a secret identity. But as it’s safe from 99.98 % of the population (as they don’t read my blog), I’m trusting you.

The Grumpster goes to work on an island. And I’m pretty sure it’s actually Thunderbird Island. He pretends he makes stuff. But he wears a uniform

(the shirt even has a sash, albeit it doesn’t go over his shoulder, it just goes round his chest, but I suspect that’s just to remain incognito).

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I keep waiting for my pink cadillac and butler to show up: I’ve got the accent, but wondered if I just wasn’t talking posh enough. But then I remembered it would be too much of a give away.

And to be fair, if I asked him for my own Parker, this is what I’d get…

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But, I’m not fooled, because some nights he gets back late – when there’s been an incident

Anyway, having caught of glimpse of the Grumpster between missions, and being in Morningside, it seemed only right that I go and browse dog beds.

You see, I had been forced to acquire a new one last week: Dexter had eaten his.  This resulted in him resorting to the cat bed for his daytime repose.

Except sometimes Oscar actually wanted to use it, and threw him out.

If he got on the remaining dog bed, the one that he’s only half eaten so far, Gracie felt it was her right to climb on the sofa.

Even though it is a strict law that no dog may sleep on a sofa.

Which I strictly enforce.

true crime

So when I actually did enforce it, Gracie was highly confused, and when I tried to get her off and eventually swung her bottom round, so she could put her back legs on the floor and climb back off, she just laid there until she eventually fell off backwards because nothing was supporting her rear end… Which happened repeatedly, because she kept insisting on climbing back on…

So to avoid any further tumbles, I acquired a new supersoft bed, which Gracie promptly claimed as her own.

But on the occasions that Dexter has snuck on when Gracie isn’t guarding it, she has taken to lying on the old bed and looking entirely uncomfortable. She splays out with all limbs, so she is sprawled over the edges of the mat, making it quite obvious that the mat is WAY too small and not up to the job. (Despite the fact that it’s actually bigger than the new bed…)

So I felt it only fair to go and investigate options to even out the bed stakes.

As I crossed the path in the direction of the pet shop, wondering if perchance there might be another supersoft bed by now. (I bought the last one when I was in previously), my thoughts were interrupted.

“My tan is fading, I can’t wait for summer, to top it up. I hate the winter!”

A gentleman dressed in a singlet and shorts was within a metre or so of me. There was no-one else around, so I realised he must be addressing me, particularly as he seemed to be showing me his leg… “Erm, yeah,” I agreed, with the intention of continuing on my mercy mission.

“I’ve been sweating [in there] {where “there” was, I have no idea}. I reckon I’ve lost 4 kilos this morning. I need to top my tan up. I’ve lost 15 kilos in 4 weeks. I’m getting married in 2 weeks. She’s a beautiful girl. Doesn’t matter that she’s a prostitute. I met her in the Valley. Look at her, she’s gorgeous.”

At which point he pulled a calling card out of his wallet and had a good look at the lovely lady on the front.

“She’s got some Greek in her.” {I couldn’t tell, as I was peering at the card upside down as he gazed down adoringly, before he slid it back into his wallet}.

“I gotta go to court before then. I beat a guy up. But he was bashing an old lady at the station. Old women can’t fight good, you know. So I beat him up. The cops said I shouldn’t have hurt him bad. I was inside for 14 years. My grand-daughter got raped. 5 years old. In Canon Hill. God, I wish I could get my hands on the bugger that did it. He’s inside now. I wish I could get hold of him. I’d bash him. I hate cops. I took him down that alley and gave him a bashing, and he said to me “Big John, you sure can fight”. Gave him too black eyes”.

{Are we talking about a policeman here, or some other randomer that you bashed? I was struggling to keep up, but chose not to ask. I hope you don’t mind}.

“He was alright. I hate cops. The only good cop is a dead cop. {!!!} I’ve been out of trouble for 39 years. I’ve got to go to court. My girlfriend’s worried about it, though. She’s 7 months pregnant. I don’t mind that she’s a prostitute. I’ve been with over 200 women. Down in the Valley, you know.”

{No, not really}.

“We’re getting married down on the Gold Coast, then going on honeymoon to Fiji, one of the islands. Anyway, I gotta get going. Nice seeing you, madam.”

And with that, he continued up the street, leaving me wondering why?

Why me?

What is it about my appearance that made him think I wanted to know all this?

Is it because I was dressed in full crim attire? I know can do daggy (chavvy) with the best of them. Did that specific combination of wardrobe malfunction set me apart as a co-conspirator in the world of crime? (THIS is why I prefer to stick to activewear… that way I look less like a fellow crim and more like a sweaty non-crim).

Reeling from my encounter and wondering what aspect of my appearance had been judged and found to be conducive to criminal confessions, I entered the quiet calm of the pet shop and bought, rather than browsed, a dog bed and went home.

I think I deserved a lie down more than the dogs did!!!

What random chats have you had? Any criminal confessions come your way?true crime true crime true crime true crime true crime true crime true crime true crime true crime true crime true crime true crime true crime true crime true crime true crime true crime true crime true crime true crime true crime true crime true crime true crime true crime true crime true crime 

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1 Comment

  • Steph on 12th June 2016

    Dogs do sleep in the most bizarre ways, our old family dog used to be the same, except the cat round often kick the dog out of the dog’s bed (poor dog). How random was that man! A proper spew of conscious thought! If I am honest, I’m not 100% sure I would have kept up with all of it! 🙂

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