Damsel in distress

Buddy, is undoubtedly one of the best people I have ever met. Buddy manages to dance the line between meeting her responsibilities to her family while still enjoying life. It’s a hard balance to find, but somehow Buddy makes it look easy. I think it’s because Buddy knows who she is and isn’t trying to be something she is not. One balmy summer evening Buddy and I decided to go out on the lash to Manly. If you were paying attention in the earlier chapters you will remember that Manly is the backpacker mecca, thus the vibe is generally pretty carefree. We pre-gamed for hours before heading out. After many mellow happy hours partying backpacker style, the evening started to wind down. Our plan was to end on a high note, we were going to have pies. Perhaps it was the hordes of backpackers, but the night wouldn’t be complete without a nod to all that is great about our humble country, a salute to one of Australia’s proudest traditions, a genuflection before our greatest culinary triumph. Sure, the Greeks have their kebabs, the French have their pastries, Indians have Butter Chicken. But after a night on the lash, nothing quite compares to the mystery meat delights of a humble Australian pie. So off we staggered to the pie shop, like trained homing pigeons, guided by instinct that defies explanation. I am prone to occasional moments of profound existentialism when en vino veritas. On this balmy evening, my vision romantically blurred, I spied a middle-aged woman who was the picture of melancholy. This felt unacceptable to me in my mellow state, so I gave this melancholy stranger an enormous hug and told her “You’re beautiful!”.

In my magnanimous but befuddled state it did occur to me that lunging at strangers is sometimes somewhat creepy. To clear up any confusion, I loudly informed her that I wasn’t a creepy pervert, I was gay. This seemed to be all of the explanation she required for my late-night fumbling. She smiled and said ‘Don’t worry honey and thank-you”. Her other half was standing maybe 20 meters away from us, he yelled ‘get the fuck away from my Toe-Rag’. Let us take a moment to reflect on the type of degenerate who calls their beloved a toe-rag. Honestly if toe-rag is an accepted term of endearment for the hetero’s then no wonder the birth rate is dropping. Shaken but not stirred, I was too poor for a martini kind of night, I yelled in Mr Toe-rag’s direction “Don’t stress I’m gay”. I naively thought that my confession that I have no plans to abscond with his female partner would be enough to diffuse the trouble that was coming. Unfortunately, my lack of naughty intentions towards Mr Toe-Rag’s wife was not enough to diffuse an angry, paranoid, ugly hearted man. ‘You’re a fucking pussy, faggot’, he yelled. Because I don’t always know when to stop, I sarcastically replied ‘oh really, I had no idea. (Dramatic shocked gesturing) Did I not just inform you of this Mr Toe-Rag? How clever of you to reach this remarkable conclusion all on your own”. This was a red flag to Mr Toe-rag. Like an impotent old bull with his masculinity to prove he came lumbering towards me snorting and bellowing. Being on the gentler end of the homosexual spectrum, I lacked the traditional macho skills to save my own rather glorious arse. Luckily for me, Buddy is not only the other half of me, she is the more aggressive half of me. Like a magical Valkyrie she came to my rescue. It was truly like something out of an action movie. She dropped her pie to the ground and came flying to my rescue, handbag swinging like a medieval hammer. As a side note, I think the most degrading beating you could ever take is to be beaten with a handbag. I’m not big on the whole masculinity thing, but damn it I would feel deeply unmanly if I was taken down by a handbag. Luckily for Mr Toe-rag, because Buddy in fight mode is a sight to be seen, a Police officer had seen the situation unfold. The Police officer intervened, saving my glorious feisty friend the hassle of having to right the wrongs of the world at the expense of a rather nice handbag. It’s always nice when you get to see the PoPo’s keeping our streets safe from disgruntled, aggressive and abusive dickheads. It’s also nice in a Disney kind of way when a story ends so neatly with good triumphing over bad.