Drawing the short straw

Remember my lovely dog/chook/bunny sitter Glen? We used to work together at Woman’s Day many moons ago.

He’s currently minding a cat called Steve in a waterfront mansion – with bonus jetty – in my neighbouring suburb. So he popped over last night to check out my renovation.

As we sat sipping our respective beer and cider in my overgrown backyard, while Charlie the Moodle humped his soft toy white tiger at our feet, I mused on the vast difference between his two housesitting experiences …

I Facebooked the jetty pic on Sunday with a message to my recent dogsitter, Megz, saying she’d really drawn the short straw on pet-sitting gigs.

Megz had been very envious when I posted a pic on Facebook a few weeks ago of myself sipping bubbly with my sister’s dogsitter (sis was on a cruise to New Zealand and her oldest friend offered to come down to Sydney to mind her schnauzers) in her glammy spa …

Making the most of my sister's spa in her absence with Lindy.

Making the most of my sister’s spa in her absence.

Megz commented that she was obviously friends with the wrong sister, since my scruffy backyard features sticky soft toys rather than a glammy pool. (She didn’t say the sticky soft toys bit, that’s my TMI embellishment.)

OK, to recap, that’s three recent Sydney pet-sitting experiences among my social circle, with Megz getting the dud one.

Although Glen reckons he’d be happy to mind my mentally ill mutts again any time. Glen is a sweetheart.

He was also very nice about my cheapy, incomplete reno.

When Glen headed back to his temporary millionaire’s digs I hiked up the hill for a walk with my friend Mel.

I immediately realised the cider with Glen, though pleasant, had been a tactical error. I always need to wee copiously and frequently after a cider.

The toilet at my local shops was locked. The toilet at my local park was locked.

I ended up weeing behind a tree while Mel held my handbag and looked the other way.

I almost had to squat in the bushes again on the way home, but managed to wince and hop my way through my front door to the loo.

It gave me flashbacks to a few mortifying incidents from my early school mum years when I’d get caught short while walking home from class dinners.

I’m so low rent. No wonder I don’t have a jetty.

Anyways, that was my Monday night. How’s your week looking?

Song of the day: Madness “Our house”

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3 thoughts on “Drawing the short straw

  1. The cows were intrigued last night as I had to make a pit stop halfway through a tennis game. There are never enough loos.

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