Chez Piddens
“Vegemite in the butter? Or butter in the Vegemite? That is the question.”
Being a huge unit, Wes was always keen to put strangers at their ease, lest they run off screaming from the sun-blocking shadow of his approach. He’d concocted a collection of sure-fire icebreakers in case he needed to pull one out, say, at the checkout.
“And how are you today, Sir?”
“Better than I look, haha, and all the better for meeting you.”
“Cash, or card, Sir.”
Wes rehearsed his latest zinger.
“What’s worse? Leaving bits of Vegemite in the butter, or leaving bits of butter in the Vegemite? Yep, I’ll try that one at Bunnings tomorrow.
Wes was distracted in mid-gloat by the rattling arrival of the farm’s CanAm buggy.
Out piled Alice, a dog and two grandgirls: Sweetie Sweetie and Sweetie Duderina.
“Oh oh, incoming…” Wes could tell from her body language that Alice was brewing an outburst.
“Right! That’s it! “
“What’s it?”
“That bloody creek crossing. It’s a death trap!”
“You’ve just got to keep well to the left. You’re in no danger.”
“Pfwhat? No danger? Those ruts are five metres deep. They could swallow a Leopard tank, ten Dodge Rams, several fat goats, most of the National Debt and our Grandgirls, Wes!”
“It’s all this rain.”
“I can’t believe you’d endanger the Sweeties by leaving the crossing in that dangerous condition. You should have heard the squealing.”
“Now, Sweeties, what is Rule Number One?”
Sweeties recite: “No squealing in the CanAm”.
Sweetie Duderina: “But we didn’t squeal.”
???
Sweetie Sweetie: “It was Nan.”
Allie presses on. “Right. No further discussion. Fix it, Wes!”
Eventually Wes got round to the job, but it wasn’t just a matter of waking up the tractor and blading a bit of dirt around. To do the job right he’d need a big bunch of stone, or concrete.
And so it came to pass that Wes came to pass the property of Furlicity Catlove, 35, goat re-wilder, of Mallanganee, and spotted a pile of broken concrete. The pile was the size of Finland. Inspiration struck Wes like the trots at a curry festival and he swung into the driveway and knocked non-threateningly on Furlicity’s door.
“Hello, I’m Wes. What d’you think is worse? People who leave bits of butter in the Vegemite, or people who leave bits of Vegemite in the butter?”
“Pardon?”
“Sorry. I noticed your big pile of concrete out the front…”
“Oh that? My ex promised me a spa tub, dug up a perfectly good swimming pool and then took off to Mildura with the plumber, leaving me with a mortgage, the shattered shards of a broken dream, and all this jack-hammered concrete.
“That’s cruel.”
“Somewhat. I don’t suppose you know anyone who’d take it away?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, that’s what brings me here.”
“Oh, so it’s not the Vegemite then.”
“No, I’m, erm, trying to assist a, a… distressed grandmother, whose road access has been damaged by floods. That concrete would be just the thing, if you can spare it.”
“Aww! A grandmother. Aren’t you sweet! Take the lot with my blessing.”
And so, it subsequently came to pass that Wes returned and loaded up, chunk by chunk, a beautiful, Bedford truck load of free concrete with which to repair his chasm-ous creek crossing.
“Nyuk Nyuk!” enthused Wes.
“About time,” commented Alice.
Wes set to work unloading each chunk by hand and dropping it into the mega-ruts.
“Ay caramba! I wish I had some Mexican friends to help me with all this Manuel handling, hahaha!”
After a long time, the job was finished. The Sweetie Grandgirls yipped and clicked their heels.
“To the CanAm, Nan!”
After a non-squeal test run, Alice declared the crossing to be “somewhat better”, so the pressure on Wes was lifted, somewhat.
A couple of weeks later, Wes spotted Furlicity Catlove out front of her house busily re-wilding some billygoats. He called in to give her an update.
“Hey, Furlicity, the job’s complete, and the, erm… grandmother is feeling much better, so thank you for that concrete.”
“You’re welcome, Wes.”
“It came up pretty good. Like to see a snap?”
“Sure. Oh wow! OMG! It’s beautiful.”
“Really?”
Furlicity studies the phone screen silently for a while, then:
“Say, Wes, I don’t know your opinion on goats, or even Vegemite for that matter.”
“Well, I…”
“See, since my ex left there’s been a bit of a local man-drought.”
“Man-drought…”
“A long time between beaus.”
“Between beaus…”
“And you’re so kind, and considerate, and kinda semi-hot for an old guy…”
“Semi-hot?”
“Plus, you’re so artistic and creative.”
“Creative?”
“Yeah, look what you did with my concrete. Most blokes would have just dumped it in the hole.”
“Well…”
“But you, you designed and created a brilliant depiction of an electric guitar in concrete.”
“Wha…what?”
“How about you and me have a go at co-habitatering?”
!!!!!
A lesson to us all.
Bullgoose