Ben cycled down to Belvoir St one morning (well, actually two mornings, but that's a different story) to try and get last minute release tickets to see Geoffrey Rush in 'Diary of a Madman'. The queue was rather long, and he feared we'd miss out a second time. Someone from the box office came and counted along the line, and told Ben he was at the very end of the allocations and would probably only get one ticket. He texted to tell me this. I texted back (from the comfort of my hairdresser where I was being given my annual head massage from heaven), saying it was ok, I didn't mind if he went on his own as long as he reenacted the whole play for me when he got home. He had been chatting with other queuers (is that a word?) and relayed them my response. Apparently everyone thought that was jolly funny. Ben thinks it may have had something to do with breaking a certain tension with some older single women in line, who had bristled when he said he was trying to get tickets for himself and his wife. This proved I had a sense of humour and we were not some sickly sweet couple (apparently). Maybe that's just the kind of thing that last minute theatre-goers find amusing. Either way, Ben said it was a whole line of people laughing and it totally counts.
Next, I was out and about in the city when I spotted an interesting sight: a young Japanese couple perched underneath the statue of Queen Victoria with little origami dolls. I let myself be suckered in and the lovely guy made me one (pictured here in the dinginess of my lounge room against the harsh glow of my laptop):
As he twisted the fine paper together, I pointed at the head and desperately offered: "Ataya? Atama? Ataya?" Nodding, he giggled sweetly. "Atama." I then tried to think of any other useful Japanese I could work up, but all I could manage was to introduce myself (badly) and then explain I was learning Japanese (badly). He humoured me. He laughed.
The clincher, however, came just as we were leaving Tasmania (more on this later). Standing in the gift shop, I picked up something called an 'Aussie Bubby Stubby'. It took a few moments to register exactly what purpose it served - as a stubby holder for your baby's bottle. Really? No seriously. Really? "This is actually kinda cute," I said to Kat, "in a totally bogan way." The woman behind the counter just about lost it. Shout out to Tam at the 'Tasmania & Beyond' souvenir store at Hobart airport! She said every time anyone buys those from now on, all she'll be able to think about is their bogan baby. Thanks Tam. I hope that keeps you laughing.
I do realise that seven is significantly less than 28, which is how many weeks have passed since I began this project and therefore how many strangers I'm supposed to have made laugh by now. But I'm working on the little victories.
Extra points for re-introducing the word 'bogan' back into the Tasmanian vernacular also :)
ReplyDelete