Friday, July 18, 2008

Leave the length at the back.

Oh, and I must tell you, I over heard a wonderful conversation last week while young Jeffrey and I were enjoying ourselves immensely in a gorgeous little Cyprian restaurant we had discovered at Byron Bay.

Mercifully, my back was to the table responsible for the disturbance, else the look on my face may have created an even greater social predicament.

The table had a number of younger children, several older people and a lone teenage boy, suffering from acute mortification at being out with such relatives while there were any number of hot German backpackers walking past.

Imagine his agony when his mother's friend or aunt maybe, decided to discuss his hair do.

Off side, I say.
She should face a disciplinary hearing for that.

Regardless, in a lovely loud, nasal Aussie voice, this person told him what was and wasn't right about his appearance and then unfeelingly went on to make suggestions as to how he might look more trendy.

Why isn't trendy a c word?
We all know it should be, and I for one, am going to start spelling it with a silent c.

In fact, I'm going to try doing that to every word I don't like, starting now.
Csorry, but my conscience is quite the cbossy cmoralising cdictator.

OK, I'll stop now.

Well anyway, her advice to this poor chap was as follows...

"You should cut your hair like my son. You know, short and the front and long at the back."


--------------- O M F G -------------------


You mean, like, into a mullet, you stupid bitch?

Go get fucked, take less cheap
oestrogen, lower your voice and mind your own fucking business, you insensitive, impertinent old mole!

Well, that's pretty much what I suspect that young man was thinking. Quite right too.

I believe he was also picturing himself throttling the crass life out of her bossy, menopausal head, right there at that very table - knocking plates of fetta and olives onto the floor as he did so.
Surely no-one could have blamed him for that.

Don't the Greeks and Cypriates smash plates as a symbol of controlled loss anyway?

Not guilty, Your Honour...

And so folks, that's how it happens. That's how the mullet is still around for us to enjoy today.
And these people drive cars and are counted alongside us as members of the community...

Not too long ago, as I was having my own hair cut - a task I truly loathe, I took the time to ask the hairdresser what people request when they get a mullet.

She replied that they never ask for a mullet as such, but that they just say, "cut the front pretty short and leave the length at the back."


Of course, translated, that means,

" My mother's my cousin, Pappy done built us a trailer out of twigs and coke cans, but only 9 of my 11 ADHD children fit in it. Got any white bread?"

All that aside, Cyprian food really is very nice.
Not as simple or salty as Greek fare, and they really know what they're doing with lamb.
Hallelujah! We both really like lamb.
We stalked around Europe questing for even the smallest morsel, earlier in the year. Finally found it in Paris, courtesy of a Greek restaurant. I suspect we may have paid close to $40 each for a shish, but, mmmmmmmmmm lamb...

A couple of years ago, as we were driving through the NSW countryside towards Braidwood, Jeff was looking apologetically out the window at the sheep who were grazing peacefully, and was heard to refer to them as, "...poor delicious bastards..."

So true.

Certainly more delicious than mullet anyway.


2 comments:

gretchenaro said...

LMAO...poor delicious bastards...


Did the young man have a sharp knife within reach?

Auntie Simone said...

Yeah, there seemed to be something in his pocket.