Period + Grass = TERRORIST THREAT!

Well today was just fantastic. I got my period halfway into a four hour face painting session. I stood up to stretch and oh. MY. LORD. And of course I never bring anything with me, it just totally spoils my image, you know? I've just had too many embarrassing incidents of trying to take out my wallet and having unsightly things fall on the floor to be viewed by disapproving aunties and embarrassed uncles. So I needed to go to plan B: lots and lots of toilet paper. Oh, the joy.

Wait, did I mention that this face painting thing was in the middle of a field? On the opening day of Clean and Green week? Thus it was, on this, the 3rd day of November, that I found myself making a beeline towards the blue Portapumpers, sitting just across the green green grass, praying that they had toilet paper, please have toilet paper, please please please.

But I was thwarted. Thwarted, again, by Harry Potter a nice burly Indian man who told me No miss, you are not allowed to go across the grass because the Prime Minister is here. Oops, silly me, I should have known that you just can't go walking on grass when the Prime Minister is in a tent 300 metres away, totally obscured from view and terrorist attacks, I mean, THE WORLD WILL EXPLODE.

What on earth does my walking on the grass have to do with the Prime Minister? I don't go up to him when he's saying his speeches and tell him to stop, because, you know, I'm walking on the grass right now, okay? so just go do your speeching somewhere else, this is my private grass-time. I do not do this. I am a reasonable human being. I appreciate that some people have to make long speeches and some people have to walk on the grass, and some people sometimes have to get toilet paper very badly and don't have time to trail behind 10 billion people gawking at exhibition boards about cockroaches and Dengue Fever - How Does It Affect Me?

I am sure that the Prime Minister would have thought it unreasonable too. I do not like these strange rules that crop up near important people, as if they are so easily offended. They're just people!

Now, for some comic relief.

those crying potato-things

http://www.dooce.com/archives/daily/03_16_2004.html

This totally beats all brenda's "Oh, it's so gonna hurt when you have a baby!" stories. Yes, I remember the good ol' days when we used to have sleepovers (make that sleepover, i only seem to remember one, the one when I got unbelievable headaches in the middle of the night and had to sneak out of the room full of sleeping bodies so I could cry in the toilet) and no sooner had we sat down and begun talking about girly things when brenda would whip out her arsenal of horror stories about how much giving birth hurts, and how much it smells, and how some unmentionable part of yourself tears (how will i ever go to the bathroom again!) and how in ancient china or tibet or somewhere the kings would only attend the labour of their wives, not their concubines, because it was too smelly blahblah. Brenda's stories have forever defined my image of child bearing, especially the smelly part, so that now I know, when that day comes, I will have my SARS masks a-ready.