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Adventures of a Queenslander
I remember coming down from Queensland to Sydney looking for a new life with my then girlfriend who was originally from the big smoke itself.
We had many times together. Some good, some shit.
One day we decided to go into the centre of town to check it out and have some lunch- or food as I like to call it. She called it lunch- which always sounded a bit more posh to me- whatever. Didn’t matter except she was a bit more posh than me- that was the problem.
It was my first time into the big massive city of Sydney-I was excited, relaxed and curious all at the same time.
I had on a pair of shorts, a blue singlet and thongs- a good old pair of cheap, rubber, how ya going thongs that weren’t trendy yet; my usual way of dressing except for special occasions when I would wear my ‘going out clothes.’ This consisted of long pants; usually cords, desert boots and a shirt with a collar-any shirt with a collar- didn’t matter as long as it had a collar so you could get into ‘Foxies’ disco at the Burleigh Heads hotel on a Friday night. Gold.
When I came out of the bedroom she looked at me- really looked at me-not in a sexual way, not in a turned on way, but in a slightly disgusted way-the way you do when you see a stranger vomit in public- except I hadn’t vomited-not yet.
Then she said it: ‘Your not going out like that are you?’
I pretended I didn’t know what she was talking about for a little while then asked-‘What? What’s wrong with it?’
‘People don’t wear thongs and singlets in the city.’ She said in matter of fact sort of way.
‘That’s their problem’ I replied sounding a little bit defensive.
‘You can’t go in the city with thongs on!’ This time she spoke a little louder emphasizing the word thongs in particular.
Her eyes widened, you could see a little bit more white around the edges of her pupils- it was like she had been struck with some kind of voodoo or something and I was the bloke with the pin. All I wanted to do was wear thongs.
‘Bullshit’- Was my comeback. Great comeback when you got nothing. Anyway, after she won the fight I put my shoes on thinking
‘What’s wrong with thongs?’
‘What’s so bad about wearing a singlet in the city?’
These are the things I told myself tying up the laces of my desert boots tucking my going out shirt into my going out jeans wondering what the hell I was doing here in the first place.
‘Who cares?’ I thought.
Guess what? She did…
That was the problem.
