Tiddas Read Online Free PDF

the day they met that they cherished most, both believing that even with extreme cultural differences,‘someone upstairs’ – as Spencer often said – meant for them to be together.
    The couple were happy and content in their own orbit, needing nothing more than each other, the local cafés and the hills. Everything they wanted was right on their doorstep, including an exercise regime. The rollercoaster hills were famous in Brisbane and Xanthe and Spencer would walk, run and stroll the suburb every chance they got to unwind together. As they both travelled so much for work, often spending days and weeks in the sky and on the road, when they were in Brisbane they just wanted their feet on the ground in Paddington. So they had their Sunday morning organic shopping and breakfast at Fundies and afternoon iced coffee at Anouk, and if they were feeling naughty might indulge in some banoffee or peanut butter pie.
    Their home suburb was all they needed, aside from a baby.

    â€˜I’m exhausted,’ Xanthe said to Spencer down the phone, three days later. ‘Thank God it’s Friday.’
    â€˜Big day, Princess?’
    â€˜The usual ignorant questions and comments: why organisations have to have Reconciliation Action Plans, what right do Indigenous staff have to get NAIDOC Day off work? Blah blah blah.’
    â€˜You’ll have fun with the girls tonight though, right? You can relax, I’ll be home by midnight.’
    Xanthe sighed deeply, gladly anticipating her tiddas – the Vixens, she moaned to herself, still not comfortable with the name the others seemed to easily adopt – visiting for the April book club meeting, and not thinking about work for a while.
    She prepared her home as if nesting was her only role in life; she cleaned like a professional, catered like royalty was visiting, and made sure every cushion and ornament was in its correct spot. Xanthe took great pleasure in playing interior decorator at home, matching the curtains with table runners, rugs with coffee tables, cushions with candles. Her attention to detail in her home was as much a mark of self-pride as her commitment to her own personal style. While she wore business suits and basic black pumps to work, she loved the structured looks of locally designed fashions from Maiocchi and the vintage clothes from Retro Metro, both only a stone’s throw or so from home. And she loved a colourful slingback. For tonight’s book club she wore a fitted red dress that showed off her tiny waist, and black pointy patent shoes she’d picked up while working in Geraldton, on the west coast.
    Xanthe gently placed her copy of the novel they’d be discussing on the mahogany coffee table, next to a pile of books about getting pregnant: Female Fertility and the Body Fat Connection, Getting Pregnant: What You Need to Know Right Now , and her latest purchase, Taking Charge of Your Fertility: The Definitive Guide to Natural Birth Control, Pregnancy Achievement and Reproductive Health . She hadn’t started reading it yet but had skimmed it enough to know it could help her maximise her chances of conception or expedite fertility treatment byidentifying the obstacles to becoming pregnant. This one book could apparently also increase the likelihood of being able to choose the gender of her baby. Xanthe’s head began to spin.
    Her desperation about getting pregnant was like a cloud hanging over her constantly; the only time she wasn’t reading about having a baby, or thinking about having a baby, or actually having sex to make a baby, Xanthe was completely focused at work or catching up with her tiddas at book club.
    When she wasn’t on the Internet reading conception and fertility blogs, or searching Amazon for the best books on getting pregnant, she was looking at websites and following Twitter accounts in the hope that the miracle answer would appear in 140 characters. When she was exercising she was