Purchases that keep on giving


Know what these bad boys are? No? Unfortunately, neither did the cleaning lady I had when I shared a flat with my extremely messy (but amazing) mate Drew.  We hired Shirley from Bee Bright BusyBees (not even joking), as the only arguments we ever had involved cleaning. It could also have been because we’re both desperately lazy. The best times we had involved gorging ourselves on takeaway from the local Hong-Kong BBQ (in the halcyon days before I knew I was coeliac), guzzling a bottle of wine and snuffling our way through a tear-jerking episode of The Biggest Loser.

But I digress. Every single week, after Shirley had left, I would have to commence the hunt for this. My Bakballs. One of the best purchases I have ever made.

I honestly don’t know what she thought they were for, or what I did with them, but she couldn’t bear to lay eyes on them. This was no usual “I’m just going to pop that away” tidy up, either. This was an “I’m burying these things deep in an obscure closet because I can’t unsee this kind of debauchery.” And I could NEVER remember to put them away before her visit.

See, I was born with one leg just the slightest bit shorter than the other (as most people are), and just a hint of scoliosis (as most people have) and the gentlest of pelvic tilts (again, very common). What I was not born with, however, was the pain that comes when these things are amplified by five car accidents in rapid succession. Five. I had FIVE car accidents. One was very definitely my fault. I ploughed into the side of a Torana after accidentally taking a sleeping pill. The next was definitely not my fault. I was shunted from behind, into oncoming traffic as a car came speeding round a corner while I was trying to pull out of a parking space. Then the one after was also not my fault. A local nurse was rubber-necking an accident scene to see if she could offer assistance. She slammed straight into the back of me, not realising blockades had been erected. In the fourth, a taxi driver was yelling on his cell phone and didn’t realise the lights had turned red. Again, rammed into me. And the fifth…actually I can’t remember. I always say five, but either it was four or the fifth one gave me amnesia.

Since then, I’ve required regular osteopathy. Which is expensive. So, very, expensive. Having a little roll on these puppies buys me at least another week, and can keep me going indefinitely if I use them nightly.

As I pack to move apartments, I’m really looking closely at all the things I’ve bought in the past. Which ones were worth it? Which ones make me think “what the hell?” and which can I toss and not replace.

These guys? Couldn’t live without them. No matter what Shirley thought of our relationship.



Header Image Photo Credit: thewhitestdogalive via Compfight cc


About colonizethemoon

36 years old. Reformed smoker. Unreformed drinker. Antisocial neighbour. Sometime shower-singer. Speaker of appalling German. On a quest to become a grown up. In all the good ways and none of the bad. Originally from Sydney (via Wales, Spain, and Newcastle, NSW) now living and working in god's country - aka Munich, Germany.

Posted on July 18, 2014, in My Purse is Closed, Preparation and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

  1. This ball story cracks me up!!


  1. Pingback: The Finer Points | My Purse is Closed

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