Navel-gazing Ten

Dear Button,

I hope you get my brains. I’m just saying. Not that Sparky isn’t smart. He is. Really. He just has his moments. Like I’ve said before. The other day wasn’t one of them however. This was before we knew you were, you know, you, but definitely after we had been trying for you. So Sparky couldn’t say that he wasn’t there and had no idea! He could possibly say that he wasn’t paying any attention to me whatsoever when I started talking about the probability of getting pregnant after the miscarriage at the first opportunity though. He must have known however that the possibility of you was never off the table…

So, we’re driving along and I am saying that I’d like to go to the shops before the end of the day because there are some things I’d like to buy like food and drink (eating dinner is always nice) and I also mentioned that I wanted to buy a pregnancy test. Sparky’s immediate response was “Why?”. Umm…I like the packets and I was thinking about making a collage so I was after a physical package in my possession so I could get some ideas flowing…“because I think I might be pregnant?”. Why the hell else do you buy a pregnancy test?? But then the genius didn’t stop there.

After my little “bombshell” which I believe shouldn’t have been anything other than eventually expected, his next contribution was “Already??”. “Ahh…Yes”. I miscarried well over a month ago. The human body has this funny way of resetting itself. And then, you know, theres the physics of the situation for which you were undoubtedly present. We did talk about this already. Although maybe you were only there in body and not in spirit. For the conceiving again conversation, not for the conception itself I mean. I can’t remember precisely the words that I used at the time but maybe as soon as the words “period” or “menstruate” came out of my mouth, anything following that was interpreted as “blah blah baby blah blah…”. Like some sort of safety mechanism so you don’t have to hear anything else that might come under the banner of “Too Much Information”. Just a theory.

But it all added up to my idea that maybe it’d be nice if you got my brains. Or at least an effective brain to mouth filter. Those come in handy too.

Alles Liebe

Lexelah

* I would credit the image I shamelessly stole if I knew who actually created it.

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Month Thirty-Two

Dear Husband,

March was an expensive month. March is usually an expensive month for us, at least over the last couple of years it has been but perhaps this time it was a little worse than others. This time there was a little more cash going round that could be spent and spent it was. March is the month that we do our annual wine trip to Beechworth and this year we were both employed and we were not in the process of buying a house.

Like always, it was a great chance to get away from Sydney and just relax in a place where the pace of life is so much more relaxed than the one we live at home. We are usually blessed with great weather and we are always in the presence of great food. I don’t think either of us stopped eating throughout the whole weekend. Well, apart from sleeping and driving to the next place that we were going to experience more eating and drinking that is. We visited some old favourites amongst the wineries and some new ones but there were some that we missed due to lack of time. We did come back with over 20 bottles though which was more than I wanted and less than you wanted (apparently you were being restrained?) so we didn’t do too badly. We also have a few more bottles coming via my parents who could get to one of the wineries we missed.

The only thing that was a bit of a shame was that we couldn’t bring the puppy with us. Although perhaps that was a blessing in disguise because he is still a puppy despite his size and even though I’m sure he’d be happy not to go too far from us, he is really not so good with the command “stay”. In fact, I’m pretty sure this command translates to “pretend you can neither hear me nor see me and don’t be still for even a second”. Hopefully our lack of discipline with the dog does not mean that any potential children will be back chatting us in public at two years old – “you get in the stroller and stay put!” – or pulling a Houdini whenever they think we are not looking.

Anyway, we enjoyed a long weekend where we were responsible for just the two of us and the puppy got kennelled up at Hildydane. Unfortunately he seems to have somewhat of a pathological fear of anyone who is not you or me or the Neighbourette and her family. The Dane lady said he would hardly let anyone near him without acting all skittish so I guess we’ll have to work on that. We do try. You bring him out to coffee sometimes, he gets taken to parks where there are people and we even took him out to Wooffest this month. Which wasn’t as impressive as it sounded really. All it seemed to amount to was a small number of stalls, some selling things, some not, and a whole bunch of people with their dogs on leads. It was all in an enclosed area but due to the number of people and animals and the impeded line of sight that wouldn’t allow you to be embarrassed if your canine was harassing some other poor four legged friend, it seemed that nobody thought it was worth the hassle to let them loose. We were certainly no exception.

So we got to do a few things this month, some around town, some out of town, like the birthdays that flanked the month on either end. We started the month with a 1st birthday party and dedication in the mountains. The weather was quite horrible but it was great to see some friends that we hadn’t caught up with in a while. It was hardly surprising however that at a child’s birthday, apart from the one person that was single at the party (and childless), we were the only couple without kids. Given last month though, that didn’t sit too well with you. Which is fair enough really but you are like the one person I know that has thought I’m upset that we miscarried so I am going to surround myself with as many infants as possible. Because after we came home, I flaked out but you went and spent the evening with friends that have a newborn! The party at the end of the month was somewhat different.

We saw the month out with a 30th birthday for my cousin. My little baby cousin who can’t possibly be that old. I know she’s actually less than two months older than you and its not as though I haven’t spent time with her as an adult (we used to live with her not that long ago) but somehow, I still think a part of her is still my little 10-year-old cousin. Perhaps its because she’s always been slightly goofy. The party was a moustache party and as we walked in she was wearing a hot pink furry mo for the occasion. The rest of the party was a little more adult though with old friends and family – and considerably more alcohol. But now we have to start preparing for your 30th. I know big events aren’t your style but we have to do something now that you’re becoming an old man. Its only fair.

Yours,

Your Loving Wife

* Photo taken at an exhibition at Town Hall

Week Six

 

 

 

 

Dear Button the Second,

Welcome. You may think it shows a remarkable lack of feeling to start this journey at week six rather than at week one but I have decided that you would be wrong. This can be one of the first of many times that I am right – because I say so – and everyone else can just suck it up. Besides, as much as each child is an individual (and should I get to meet you, I’m sure I will communicate same), right now, well, you’re not really. At least not discernibly so. Sorry to burst your bubble baby. Sure, you’ll have your own DNA and all but in terms of your development to date, I can’t tell you that its any different from what is listed here, here, here, here and here. And neither is mine. Even this week is not much different from the last Week 6 but this time, its your week 6.

You are:

  • Now tripled or even quadrupled in size and are three or four entire millimetres long!
  • Working on growing a nose, some ears and a mouth.
  • Also growing flappy little legs and arm buds.
  • Enjoying a heartbeat that can be seen on an ultrasound – 100 to160 beats per minute. Work it baby.

I am:

  • Not looking very pregnant as you might expect.
  • Not really experiencing any crazy signs of “expecting”.

There is a little bit of:

Oh yeah, this: I am getting that slight weighty and tight feeling in my lower abdomen again. The one that’s kind of like cramps but not really. The one where I would really be more comfortable if it just went away completely but it is occasionally so vague and unassuming that I forget its there at all. I can still be the girl in the tampon commercial (even though there would be no point in me actually wearing one) that is happy and flirty and getting the most out of life. Which at this point is attending 30th birthday parties so there you go.

Oh, and I miss poop. Not much more needs to be said really. This didn’t hit me till week seven last time but its still a pain in the…well, it was a terrible pun anyway.

New to the table: Well nothing is really. But I kind of think that this is a good thing.

From now on I guess we shall have to see if this time is any different to the last. I am of course hopeful that the final outcome will be different on this occasion. So till next time little Button the Second, Button for short, be good and don’t upset your mother.

Alles Liebe,

Lexie

Love Is

Dear Husband,

After a couple of years of marriage, I have come to the conclusion that love comes in many shapes and sizes. I have also come to the conclusion that many of the so called “truths” out there are complete bollocks. Propaganda if you will. Like the following for instance:

Love is patient.

No it bloody isn’t. Case in point. I got to the train station a little later than I should have last week on a morning when I happened to need a new weekly ticket. I couldn’t therefore run straight down to the platform and wait for my train, I needed to stand in a queue first and hopefully not miss it. And to my mind, the waiting process was taking a little longer than it should have. So I started to fidget and make sure I had my credit card, the right credit card, out and ready. I began shuffling from foot to foot as if my reaction time was going to be faster when a ticket window finally became available. I muttered the mantra of the eternally hopeful under my breath. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon. But I didn’t push in front of someone else. I didn’t huff and puff and complain about the service, and I didn’t give up and storm over to the ticket machines instead. I was patient. More or less.

Skip to a couple of days later however when the puppy and I were ready to go somewhere and you, my husband, were clearly not, I was all over “For the LOVE of GOD, will you PLEASE stop fussing around like a girl and HURRY THE HELL UP! – you SO don’t need to worry about that crap now, lets GO!”. Patient? Not so much.

Love is kind.

Well I guess it can be. I certainly make more of an effort with you than I do with others but likewise, you probably bear the brunt of a little too much familiarity. If someone at work frustrates the crap out of me, the first words out of my lips are not “can you please pull your head out of your arse and wash your mouth out on the off chance that you’ll stop spouting crap”. If someone else asks for assistance I am more than happy to respond with “how can I help?”. When I see something that might be of benefit or use to others I often want to make it happen but when you come to me with a back/head/stomach ache I have been known to react along the lines of “awww….can’t you just get over it?”.

Love means never having to say you’re sorry.

Now this one is total codswallop. Apart from all the times when I have done something unfeeling in a state of unthinking and determined that I truly owed you an apology, you have actually asked me to apologise before. Several times in fact. I believe you have probably asked me to apologise in our relationship as many times as I can remember being asked to apologise by my parents when growing up. I’m also pretty sure that they probably asked me many many times to apologise and you really haven’t asked me that many times at all in the grand scheme of things but my point here is that I have definitely noticed you asking because I can’t remember anyone else (apart from my parents) who has.

Love means………..
              …………finishing each other’s sentences.

Whilst this is a nauseatingly accurate assessment of the behaviour exhibited by some couples I certainly don’t believe that this is in any way a definition of love. I also don’t believe it applies to you and I. In my experience so far, we tend to execute a somewhat different version. Apparently for us, love means correcting each other’s sentences. Something we do with regularity. Take the other weekend for example. Conversation came around to your crazy hospital stay as you talked up a storm.

“…the pain was so intense when I arrived that they gave me morphine but that made me really paranoid so they had to give me something to calm me down but then that made me nauseous so then they had to give me something else to settle my stomach. Every time they needed to medicate me, they had to give me a cocktail of drugs!”
“No they didn’t. That was just the first time. It was only morphine that didn’t agree with you. They figured out that endone didn’t freak you out so the second and third time we went in I asked them to give you that instead.”
“…they didn’t know what was wrong so they ended up giving me a spinal tap but it didn’t heal properly…”
“They did have to make three passes at the spinal tap so there were really a couple of holes there”.
“…anyway, they kept me overnight then sent me home but we ended up coming back first thing the next morning.”
“Well actually, it was more like late morning. It was Good Friday and I had gone to find an open supermarket but you phoned me while I was out and said come and get me now.”
“…the next time they did a blood patch and then sent me home again but that procedure didn’t work either so I came back to hospital and had to stay for like two weeks”.
“It was a little more like a week and a half…”.

But you are not immune to this annoying habit either.

“…so Neighbourette called me up the other day to say that her uncle had kept all his cows and she had to tell me why. We had been talking previously about the rising floodwaters in Gundagai and she mentioned that her uncle had 200 head of cattle. She also mentioned that he had already moved them to the highest part of his land due to all the rain but if the river peaked above 10 metres then he was going to lose the whole lot.”
“No, it was if the river reached over 9.6 metres then he’d lose the cattle.”
“…anyway, the river kept on rising and at one point, he took his jet ski out onto the flooded Murrimbidgee to go and check on them. While he was out there, he was looking at the cows and at his land and at the neighbours land and then he thought ‘Hmm…my neighbours land looks a little higher than mine’ so he went and got some bolt cutters to cut a hole in the fence and then he herded 200 head of cattle, with a jet ski mind you, onto his neighbours land. The river peaked at like 10.2 metres…”
“Actually it was actually 10.9 metres”.
“So most of the cattle were saved although about ten of them did unfortunately get swept away but get this, about 10k’s down the road (or the river as it were), seven of them actually came out!”.
“I think you’ll find it was ten went in and three of them came out. Seven were totally swept away”.
“Fine, but I thought this was a classic story and only in Gundagai, right?”.
“Well actually this could really be any Australian outback town…”.
“Ok, why don’t YOU just tell the story next time?”.

And I might as well just add a disclaimer here that the above is my recollection of the conversations and any hard facts and figures may well be totally not accurate at all – but you get my point. Never let the facts get in the way of a good story. Unless of course, you are not the one telling the story in which case tall poppy syndrome never did anyone any permanent harm. Besides, we are just keeping each other truthful and accountable, right? Because if nothing else, love for someone else is wanting the best for them.

Lovingly yours,

Your Loving Wife

* Photo taken at Pennyweight Winery on our recent trip to Beechworth

The (Worst) Best Day

Dear Husband,

I think being married to you is kind of like working in a coffee shop. Just go with me on this one ok? One minute you’re making a scalding hot long black and the next, an icy frappuccino. Sometimes you get broad smiles and friendly conversation and at others you slam right into someone elses rotten day. I’m just saying. There are occasionally complaints and demands, and people who clearly don’t know what they want so they um and ahh for ages but despite all that, some people are a complete pleasure and if it’s a good coffee shop, you’ll always come back to it. Or you’ll keep working there…Or whatever…So yeah, I wasn’t really going anywhere with that, I just started thinking about our date yesterday and then the whole good vs crap dichotomy, and the coffee thing just popped into my head. Because, and this may sound unrelated but trust me there is logic here, you must admit that yesterday was a bit of a yo-yo.

It first came about because I “opened up the opportunity for you to do something nice for me”. Which was a much more attractive way of saying that I may have expressed that I was feeling a little underappreciated of late and you may have felt somewhat guilty about that. Therefore Ladies Choice was offered and a buffet breakfast it was… Going on a date for a luxurious breakfast – totally awesome, this day will go down in the history books as being fantastic, having the realisation that you are going on the date because you have been taking your wife for granted – crappest feeling ever, I may as well be tearing my heart out.

So we were suffering from temporary insanity when we thought that it should be easy to get street parking right outside and we ended up driving around for a good 5-10 minutes before giving up and entering the nearest parking garage. It wasn’t too much of a walk from our destination and it beat driving around in circles. Getting a $10 all day carpark in the city – better than nothing, realising that you should have pre-booked a cheap park online – not much bloody use when you’re late for breakfast.

Breakfast was pretty outstanding though. There was everything you could possibly want as well as things you probably didn’t. It’s a cultural thing I know, but I grew up in the land of weet-bix – Asian food just shouldn’t be consumed for breakfast unless you’re hung over in which case anything goes. So I passed on the dim sims but figured I’d try a wheatgrass shot. There were three good reasons for this; I’d never had one before, it was supposedly extremely healthy and I was already paying for it in principle. I didn’t quite appreciate your description of the taste however till after I’d tried the “liquefied grass”. Watching your wife drink a wheatgrass shot – pretty damn funny, indulging in scrumptious goodness – absolutely delicious, stuffing your face to the point of physical discomfort – not the smartest move on the planet…at all…now having mental images of beached whales and overturned turtles…

Half a Samurai Sudoku and several newspaper articles later, we decided to do a bit of window shopping. You were still in have-to-make-this-the-best-date-ever mode and so you had me play clothes horse and try on a number of outfits. Why this equals Best Date Ever, I’m not sure but I did it anyway. We had to run the gauntlet a few times between the overly officious sales staff who wanted to tell me that I’d look fantastic in camel (I’m sorry, but a camel dress is going to look about as attractive on me as a camel toe – which is not very) but on the plus side, I think I kind of looked hot in a couple of the dresses. Seeing your wife look hot – definitely a plus, how awesome are you for marrying this chick?, seeing your wife look hot and not being able to do anything about it – damned frustrating!..please just kill me now.

After shopping for a while, we had to leave for our next date – with your dad for coffee. In between breakfast and shopping however we had discovered that the parking ticket had gone missing. Since we would have had all day parking for a flat rate, we thought we’d try our luck first without the ticket. It seems however that compassion is not their strong point and making a buck is so they said we could take all the time we wanted to look for the lost ticket and it would only cost us $10 or we could pay the lost ticket rate of $82 to get out now. So we called our breakfast location – to no avail. We searched back over our path that morning – to no avail. Therefore, this date just became the WORST. DATE. EVER. in the history of the entire planet due to horrendous circumstances (I so should have know better), company not withstanding of course.

So then we considered what desperate measures could be gone to in aid of a replacement ticket. Could we bribe someone to drive up to the ticket gate to get a ticket and then reverse back out into the street? It seemed not. Could we corral enough people to stand over the sensors to trick the machine into thinking there was a car there? Unlikely. Could I give a good enough sob story to the person behind the machine about losing my wallet and not having any way to pay for an $82 ticket? I doubt it seeing as we had probably already been filmed on camera. At about this point in time however you walked over to the exit gate and happened to see a single, creased, several times driven over no doubt parking ticket dated for a previous day. Since we didn’t have anything to lose, we put it into the ticket machine and voila, “Please Pay $10”. Therefore, this date just became potentially the LUCKIEST. DATE. EVER. in the history of the whole damn universe, maybe we should go out and buy a lottery ticket cause we are on fire! and we paid our $10 and got in our car.

The story didn’t end there of course. We still had to get out of the boom gates and it appeared that the much run over ticket could not elicit more than “Bad Read” from the exit ticket machine. So our potentially awesome luck was suddenly potentially a $92 charge to get out of the stupid parking lot. Not Happy Jan. But a few minutes sounding pissed over the intercom declaring that you’d damn well paid the $10 already and you could give them a credit card number if they didn’t believe you got the boom gate lifted and we shot out to freedom. Yet again clarity, hilarity and charity have been restored to the date and all is well with the world. Our lives are not over and we are not destitute – which I suppose was the perceived outcome before this time.

Our date with your dad was somewhat less of an emotional rollercoaster. There was of course the mini gamut between being summoned invited to coffee by your parent may not necessarily be a good thing to I totally scored the park of the century in Paddington! but on the whole, the afternoon was spent on a fairly even keel. And I’m not complaining by the way. About any of it. I had a great day because I got to spend some relaxing time in the morning with my husband, we went out to coffee in beautiful weather afterwards and I got a nanna nap in the afternoon. I even got pizza for dinner. Sure, it would have sucked if we wasted money sorting out the parking but its not the end of life as we know it and we’re still together.

Through the highs and lows yours,

Your Loving Wife

* Photo taken at Scupltures By The Sea last year.

Bon Mots

Sculpture By The Sea - ZebraDear Husband,

When I was a little girl, I used to enjoy writing stories. On the whole, they probably weren’t that great. Especially as I often managed to only get half or three quarters of the way through before I got bored or sidetracked by a new project. I always had fun though because I loved expressing myself in words. I therefore imagined that when I eventually got married, it would be to someone who would write me long, deep and meaningful letters that would speak to the depths of my soul. Or even long, shallow and pointless emails that would tickle the core of my sense of humour. As it turns out however, that wasn’t the case.

You, my husband, rarely send me anything more than a paragraph or two and frequently all I get is a sentence or two. Despite this seeming reluctance for lengthy correspondence however, you actually are a very good writer. You have an eloquence that I admire and an ability that I think is truly awesome. Your turn of phrase as you formulate lyrics for your music is a rare gift and I also have to say that you are a dead set legend at improving my attempts at addressing selection criteria or employment review questions.

So it would seem in fact that I did marry a poet but what I also wanted to say to you my husband was that you do sometimes surprise me. I came across the following when I was cleaning up files of saved emails and such and I remember that your emails totally cracked me up and made my day on this occasion. We were of course both in different jobs at the time and caught in a moment when we were each somewhat…unstimulated shall we say but it is a memory that still makes me smile…

The Husband: How’s your day going??

The Wife: Oh, you know, its a laugh a minute in this place. A bit of photocopying, playing with paperwork to make it all look pretty, same old same old really. I spent an inordinate amount of time yesterday forging documents so they look like they have always appeared on our letterhead and today I got to print them all out and put them in an envelope. Very intellectual stuff…things that lesser mortals might not understand…tasks that require a certain expertise and relevant training in order to perform to the high standards that I constantly maintain.

Like that really.

The Husband: Ahhhh, I understand….

Well at least you get to use that fine intellect of yours in creating the verbose, literary gem of an email that I end up receiving in response to my poorly concocted preschool attempt at conversation……..

The Wife: Yes, I know. But we can’t all be gifted in this life.

It is however a mark of strength and a certain level of intelligence on your part that has enabled you to both recognise and acknowledge your shortcomings. I am aware that I am currently in an enviable position at my place of employment, presiding as I do over the some of the documentation that is diligently disseminated from this office and it would I’m sure be very easy to foster resentment of both my good fortune and my natural talent but you accept this with a refreshing grace and humility…

So how is your day so far dear…?

The Husband: Indeed my love, those of us who are still mere mortals cannot understand nor utilise the angelic languages you speak.

My day however, is sarcastically tremendous. The joys of effective management protocols, the warm feelings you get from a pat on the back (knife or no knife…), and the constant indications that your career is carefully developing an exit strategy in close companionship with the nearest toilet bowl.

I love my job!

But apart from that, I am looking forward to our dinner tonight. No work, wine, food, company… Finally time to let it all hang out.

On second thought, maybe I should tuck some of it in… I guess there are only so many things that should be presented to the host on arrival at a dinner party.

The Wife: Ah yes. It is often considered advantageous to put your best foot forward and therefore entering the room first with other protruding body parts is generally not held as the best way to make friends and influence people.

In a way it gladdens me though, considering how much you love your job, to know that that stalwart bastion of bureaucracy currently facilitating over our supposed democracy and operating at times like an idiocacy (in the sense that it is run in part by the cellularly challenged in the brain department), is just the same as it was yesterday and indeed last year and the decade before that. I’m sure there must be a certain plebeian comfort in knowing that an organisation which insults your intelligence today is not going to do an about face and confuse matters tomorrow. Yes?

Of course, one never actually applies to be a human voodoo doll however so there are only so many sharp objects in the back, sideswipes and swift blows to the midsection that one can take before it is abundantly clear that a square peg does not fit in a round hole. At this point it is almost a fait accomplis that the work place turns into an episode of Survivor and any and all dissenters get voted off the island. Because really, how else are they supposed to ensure profound obsequience if they cannot make the lateral thinkers that snuck through the system wear the unthinking cap of the servant to the public?

The Husband: Ok, ok, I give up…..

But I love you anyway.

Lovingly Yours,

Your Loving Wife

* Yet another photo from last year’s Sculptures By The Sea

Sign Here…Again

Dear Officeworks,

I know that you think you are the Mecca for all things Stationery and Office Worthy. I also understand that you might think that such a holy place, there for the well being of so many, should perhaps have rigorously adhered to policies and procedures to stay strong. Whilst not quite the backbone of any successful business, these standards are definitely like a really important muscle and they should be nurtured accordingly. I accept this. To be perfectly honest however, I sometimes think you go a little too far. I have been questioned on no less than three separate occasions by your staff when making purchases and I’m starting to find it somewhat insulting.

On one occasion, I fronted up to one of your cashiers and when given the total of my purchase, I produced my account card for payment. Rather than immediately accepting my card however, I was questioned as to whether this was actually my card because cards can only be used by their owners and are not transferrable. Yes its my card you peasants. What, do I look too much like a hobo in my high heels and business skirt that you are assuming I could not possibly be an employed office worker out to buy folder dividers whilst in the rightful possession of an account card? I am the owner of the card. It even has my signature on the back. Not that your staff believe me.

On another occasion, I was asked by one of your cashiers to resign the account slip because she didn’t think that the signature matched. Now I’ll grant you, its fair enough to ask me to resign when it is clearly not the right signature. Believe it or not, I am not actually counting the time where I signed my maiden name to the docket whilst my married name is clearly used on the card. If your staff diligently catch this, I don’t have a problem but c’mon, there have to be a significant number of people that do not sign a thin piece of paper EXACTLY the same way that they do a thick plastic card with the finite amount of space in which you get to demonstrate your identity. The words were all right, the letters had the loops in the right places and it looked close enough to me. It looks better than the way I sign credit card slips at the supermarket, but no. Its not good enough for Officeworks.

Like today when I committed the heinous crime of using a lowercase letter for my first initial rather than the uppercase letter displayed on the card. The rest of the signature was pretty identical this time around I thought but I was still questioned in a disbelieving tone as to whether this was in fact my signature. Where do you people come from? The handwriting analysis unit at ASIO? Did the government kick you out and now you choose to work at Officeworks? Policing the huge fraud risk of unauthorised stationery charging. I tell you, if I had stolen that card to use for my own nefarious purposes, do you really think I would come in to buy a business card holder worth about $3.50? Do you not think that I would be charging laptops or phones or portable storage devices etc to the account? Something that was worth more than the change that you could lose out of a pocket and down the back of a couch?

So I’m just saying Officeworks that you might want the fanatics on the registers to ease up a little. Or maybe you could actually issue account cards that you know, have the customer’s name printed on them. That way, when you don’t believe the card is mine I can whip out some photo ID to prove it to you. Because you can’t be too careful with those degenerates out there who like to put purchases under $10 on credit which may or may not belong to them. All such deviants should be stopped. You never know what will happen.

Yours sincerely,

A Reluctant Officeworks Customer