Fast cars and even faster pussy.....cats.

Let me share with you my week. 

Actually I'll share two of them, just for good measure.

After some person, who shall remain nameless (coz I actually have no idea who he/she was), bumped his/her piddly arsed little vehicle into the right rear of the Holden a few weeks back....our car was finally able to get repaired this week (busy chappies apparently). But as I had several appointments to keep this fortnight, my beloved organized a rental vehicle for me.

Enlisting the help of the Gypsy Niece and her beloved silver Hyundai, we tootled off to Fremantle to pick up said rental, and then proceed to have lunch at one of the fine local eateries. And all was going well until I was escorted to the yard....and much to Gypsy Niece’s delight and amusement, handed the keys to a shiny, white..

You guessed it:

Hyundai.

A Hyundai ‘Accent’ to be precise.

Now let’s just take a moment here.

After being accustomed to negotiating greater Perth in a Holden SV6 I was now being treated to a swift reminder as to why I enjoy negotiating greater Perth in a Holden SV6....as opposed to a Matchbox toy with ideas above its station. Transferring to the Hyundai was akin to going from a Sherman tank to geriatric Jeep. Yes, I know the little roller skate is all economical and whatnot but it also has about as much testicular fortitude as a half-roasted peanut. And that. I feel, is being a little harsh on the peanut.

Needless to say my Hyundai tales have been a point of humour all week...mostly not mine.

It wouldn't be so bad if some other people didn't drive like pillocks. I am not sure what it is about indicators, but people often seem to think they are optional....especially when taking the second exit on a roundabout. No you are not ‘just going straight ahead’ you are entering a roundabout and should indicate wherever and whenever you leave the damn thing, regardless of which exit you take. It’s not rocket science...seriously.

But to add to the fun and games, I had to take the kittens to the vet for their follow up appointment and as they had already found it necessary to completely circumvent their cones and each pull a stitch out....the vet was less than impressed. Long story short...accompanied by the fact that they couldn't sit still if their furry little lives depended on it, they now have fat little tummies that need monitoring each week until the swelling goes completely down.

Most humans following abdominal surgery like to kick back and relax; but not these two clowns....not only have Merlot and Shiraz found it hugely entertaining to gallop around like demented school children, they have also developed an insatiable desire to climb on a person as soon as one bends over....requiring the need to either hunchback of Notre Dame yourself to the nearest chair in the hope they'll dismount, or stand up and thus have them perch on your shoulder like a fluffy, whiskered parrot.

Despite their avian tendencies however, they are still managing to recover well. And surprising enough, they love the flavour of their anti, inflammatory medication.

Little druggies.

Another foray I took in my petitemoblile was to the ‘boob place’. Now in all fairness they scan any part of your body you so desire, but as I desire to keep my boobs, I had them scan those. Now as my last titty cancer was in an awkward spot (I am nothing if not the queen of awkward) it was only picked up on ultrasound (well, actually, it was picked up by me...then an ultrasound). So not only were my ample mammaries squished within an inch of their life, they were also gelled up and checked for 'things what don’t belong' that way as well.

I can think of worse ways to spend an hour, I guess (thankful for modern technology and stuff). And of course, because the left one has received most of the attention over the last five years...the right has decided it wants to feel special. “It is most probably absolutely nothing, but we would love your previous films from New Zealand...just for comparison.” Which simply involves me sending a letter to my Mama, giving her authority to uplift said films from my previous hospital in NZ (What’s the betting that after she reads this, I get a Viber message, saying something to the effect of: “Why the hell haven’t you sent me the bloody letter.” Quite delicately spoken is my Mum.)

I’ll do it after this Mum...I promise.

Now to its credit, despite all this gallivanting around (which also included trips to the supermarket, and a local second-hand shop where I volunteer) the little snot-beetle has yet to drop under half a tank. And it is definitely easy to park.

But it doesn’t really like moving in a hurry. You put your foot down and it has to think about what needs to happen next. It’s sort of like you’re speaking a foreign language to it through a translator. 

“Oh ‘accelerate’ means move faster?? Oooooh, ok, ok, I do that now.”

“Thanks, thanks for coming to the party on that one. A little earlier would have been nice, but hey”

And as for anything involving a slope...

"What? You want me to go just as fast....UPHILL?!"

"Yes, yes I do."

"But it's hard work!"

"You'll be fine"

"I dunno, I think I feel my carburettor starting to give."

"If you don't don't shift your whiny arse up this hill, I swear to God, I'll have your spark plugs for earrings!

"Oh right you are then"

And off we go.

I know, I know, I should just be grateful to have something with motorized wheels, but I can’t say I'll be emotional when it goes back.

I might be all emotional at the kittens in a minute though.....

You wait till your father gets home!