Odd Socks Read Online Free PDF Page B

over. I finally gave up the effort just as I came to the conclusion I was a damn hero, despite that sanctimonious pillock of an ambulance man. So, instead of trying to sleep, I made myself a strong cup of hero coffee laced with a liberal amount of hero rum and ran myself a hero bath. And here I am, fully submerged and happily counting life’s little blessings.
    I sigh contentedly and rearrange myself more comfortably. Like a surfacing submarine, my left breast immediately pops up out of the foam. I give it a disdainful look because this particular breast appears to be misbehaving on a regular basis today. And, if it keeps it up, it’ll get the chop – literally. Because, for quite some time now, I’ve been seriously considering a breast reduction not just for my left breast, but also for the right.
    I’m rather well endowed – and that’s putting it mildly. And over two decades of being ogled, and whistled at, and having to listen to the same stupid tit-jokes from dorks who think they are thigh-slappingly hysterical (and, to add insult to injury – or vice versa – it’s usually my thigh they’re slapping) is over two decades too long. Then there’s the problem with buying clothes – as if being nearly six foot tall isn’t bad enough! And the backache from the uneven weight distribution – I adjust myself in the bath as I think of this and stare down at the offending glands. Then I pick up the soap from the side of the bath and balance it on my recalcitrant left breast – it immediately slithers off and disappears beneath the bubbles with a hollow plop. Yep, totally useless.
    I dismiss the irritation of overendowment momentarily as I go back to staring at the ceiling and smiling happily. How can one person have so many blessings? Some people might say I’m tempting fate by counting my blessings, but what’s the point of being blessed if you can’t feel smug about it? Besides, it’s all a matter of control. If you have your life under control, the chances of things going wrong are reduced dramatically.
    After I’ve finished in here I’ll have another coffee while I make a few phone calls. First, the library to ask for a few days off – perhaps even the whole week: I deserve it. Second, the carpet cleaners. Third, fourth, fifth and maybe sixth, a few select people to let them know the good news. I flick my foot into the air, sending a cascade of froth floating to the ceiling before submerging myself again to rinse the last of the suds out of my hair. Then I pull the plug, step out and grab one of the enormous white bath sheets to dry myself off vigorously.
    These generous towels are capable of wrapping themselves around my body at least twice so, thus clad, I open the door and pad downstairs towards the kitchen to put the kettle on. I left the heat on when I went up to bed earlier, so the unit istoasty warm from head to foot – and so am I. While the kettle is boiling, I run a cloth over the bench-tops and then lean against them, looking out of the kitchen window at the grey dawn and cloudy sky. It looks like another chilly winter day typical of July in Melbourne.
    I live in Ferntree Gully, a leafy and charming outer eastern suburb of Melbourne. Ferntree Gully covers a rather large area and ranges from the truly picturesque, brimming with tree ferns, dales and wildlife, to the basically suburban, which is, well, basically suburban. I live in one of the latter areas but an absence of overabundant greenery is more than made up for by the additional absence of trespassing wildlife, such as possums, which would use my roof as a trampoline and relieve themselves in my driveway. I know this for a fact because I grew up in the picturesque, leafy dale part, and not only was I rudely awakened on many occasions by noisy nocturnal wanderings overhead, but it was also my job to clean the possum crap off the car, driveway and porch. No bloody