1. Date. I hate dating. Mainly because I’m really bad at it. It’s genetic though. My father took my mother on a date to watch him play football. Running onto the field for the second half he was waving at her when he tripped over the bloke in front of him and had to be stretchered off the field. That’s generally how us Devereaux men win our women over – sympathy.
2. Ride an Elephant. In Thailand for our honeymoon, I was coerced into riding one because at that stage there was simply nothing I wouldn’t do for sex which in hindsight made it kind of counterproductive. I thought I was going to die. We were traversing a river bank and this elephant we were on didn’t want to walk down the clay embankment, probably because it was slippery, but the guy in front of us kept prodding it with a stick until it slowly went down. It’s alright for the elephant handler, he wasn’t tied on so he could jump. I thought we were going to be crushed to death. If Tracey ever insists I ride an elephant for sex again I’m taking my own sharp stick to prod the elephant handler.
3. Chicken feet. I don’t want to eat the feet of any critter, be it cows, pigs or Mary’s little lamb. But especially those of chickens. It’s the little knuckles which put me off. I feel like a survivor from a Himalayan plane crash chewing on the fingers of less fortunate passengers while I wait for rescue.
4. Show rides. I’ve seen the showies manning the rides. Many of them can’t even remember to brush their teeth, let alone remember to put and tighten all the bolts in a ferris wheel or cyclone. And I’ve seen them roll into town with the rides on the back of trucks – there would be loose and missing nuts. I like the thrill to be ‘will I throw up’ not ‘will I survive’.
5. Learn to drive. It was terrifying. More now that I’ve been doing it a while and I know how close I came to ending up in hospital. And how often. I remember driving my brother and his mates around town one day when the street in front of me suddenly ended in a wooden barrier. I slammed on the brakes and skidded 180 degrees and then took off back up the street. They all cheered and thought I was really cool but I knew I hadn’t planned anything except not dying, and that was only a last minute thing really.
6. Puberty. I went to a boarding school without shower curtains so I’ve seen a cockatoo (thank you Austen Tayshus) and if there’s one thing I can tell you about puberty it’s that it’s kinder to some blokes than others and it’s hairy. Very, very hairy. Plus it messes with your head. For years I thought I had all the answers – this despite several exams conclusively proving otherwise. I’m at the opposite end of puberty now, where all the hair starts leaving your body.
7. University. It took me three years to sober up and I still can’t drink rum. Needless to say I didn’t do especially well, although it says something for my cramming skills that I passed anything at all. To this day I still don’t know what subjects I was enrolled in. I recall one subject was music of some sort, which makes perfect sense when you consider I was supposed to be studying economics.
8. Ignore a Sick Child. Miss17 taught me this lesson when she was three. She came into my room saying she felt sick. I dragged her into bed with me and went back to sleep. Five minutes later I woke up choking on her vomit because she’d thrown up directly into my mouth. If your child says they’re sick, my advice is to give them the benefit of the doubt, especially if you sleep with your mouth open.
9. Conceive. Is this really too much to ask? Seriously, I think I’ve done my bit.
10. Divorce. It’s messy and gut-wrenching. And expensive. Why do divorces cost so much? Because they’re worth it. Baa-haa. That reminds me, I need to go make Tracey a cup of tea and remind her I think she’s beautiful, a goddess and I’m lucky to know her, let alone love her. Yep, that should do it – safe for another day 😉
When not typing away over here and checking his stats every two minutes
Bruce Devereaux hangs out at his ‘BIG FAMILY little income’ Facebook Page.
’raising a family on little more than laughs’