This is the story I referred to in my post last week that almost got me mistaken for a supermodel.
It was originally published in The Age newspaper in April 2001 (you'll see that some of the references are a bit dated). They ran a funny short story competition and published the three place-getters and mine - go figure.
Anyway - try to picture it with a photo of Claudia Schiffer alongside the title. I thought of adding one myself but didn't want to be pinged for copyright infringement.
Revenge is Sweet
Mavis ran into the house, slamming the door shut and then locking it behind her.
“They’re out there again,” she cried as she ran around the house, pulling down all the blinds.
“Who?” asked Kev, following slowly after his wife. “The police? The secret service?”
“The supermodels,” panted Mavis, only just beginning to get her breath back.
“Damn supermodels,” exclaimed Kev.
“I hadn’t even got past the front gate and there was Claudia, camera at the ready, crouching down behind the bougainvillea.”
“Bloody Claudia,” fumed Kev. “Can’t she ever leave us alone?”
“That was barely the start of it,” continued Mavis. “No sooner had I got out to the street when there they all were. Elle hiding behind the big gum tree outside number 7. Cindy ducking down behind the O’Donnells’ hedge.”
“What about Naomi?”
“Up in Tommy McGinty’s cubby house with Jerry and Linda.” Mavis shook her head. “It’s getting so as you can’t even walk down to the milk bar without having a supermodel or ten shove a camera in your face.”
“No respect for privacy,” muttered Kev. “It’s as bad as what I just saw on the telly.”
“What? Don’t tell me Tom and Nicole were on again.”
Kev nodded, a resigned expression on his face.
“And what were they saying this time?” demanded Mavis.
“Well Tom said that he thought our marital problems are due to me having a passionate affair with Madge from bingo, but Nicole just reckons we’re both living a lie and our whole marriage was a sham from the start.”
“Typical,” grumbled Mavis. “We have one little tiff down at the fish and chip shop and next minute the whole world knows about it.” She looked at Kev plaintively. “I can’t take any more of this. I have to get away. I need a holiday.”
Kev sighed. “If only it were so easy. But wherever we go, the Royal Family are sure to track us down. Just like last year, at the caravan park in Merimbula.”
“Don’t remind me,” said Mavis, rolling her eyes. “I’ll never forgive the Queen for saying she thought my dresses were dowdy.”
“And what about when Prince Charles made all those jokes about my nose.”
“But the worst was that Fergie, always following me into the shower block, teasing me about my weight.” Mavis shuddered at the recollection. “It was so humiliating.”
Kev held out a hand to his wife. “Sorry honey, I guess we’ll just have to stay put. But let’s try to see the bright side. Think of all the things we’ve got. A house in the suburbs. A crippling mortgage. A couple of dead end jobs. While all they’ve got is fame, wealth and celebrity. When you look at it that way, it’s no wonder they all want a piece of our lives.”
It was originally published in The Age newspaper in April 2001 (you'll see that some of the references are a bit dated). They ran a funny short story competition and published the three place-getters and mine - go figure.
Anyway - try to picture it with a photo of Claudia Schiffer alongside the title. I thought of adding one myself but didn't want to be pinged for copyright infringement.
Revenge is Sweet
Mavis ran into the house, slamming the door shut and then locking it behind her.
“They’re out there again,” she cried as she ran around the house, pulling down all the blinds.
“Who?” asked Kev, following slowly after his wife. “The police? The secret service?”
“The supermodels,” panted Mavis, only just beginning to get her breath back.
“Damn supermodels,” exclaimed Kev.
“I hadn’t even got past the front gate and there was Claudia, camera at the ready, crouching down behind the bougainvillea.”
“Bloody Claudia,” fumed Kev. “Can’t she ever leave us alone?”
“That was barely the start of it,” continued Mavis. “No sooner had I got out to the street when there they all were. Elle hiding behind the big gum tree outside number 7. Cindy ducking down behind the O’Donnells’ hedge.”
“What about Naomi?”
“Up in Tommy McGinty’s cubby house with Jerry and Linda.” Mavis shook her head. “It’s getting so as you can’t even walk down to the milk bar without having a supermodel or ten shove a camera in your face.”
“No respect for privacy,” muttered Kev. “It’s as bad as what I just saw on the telly.”
“What? Don’t tell me Tom and Nicole were on again.”
Kev nodded, a resigned expression on his face.
“And what were they saying this time?” demanded Mavis.
“Well Tom said that he thought our marital problems are due to me having a passionate affair with Madge from bingo, but Nicole just reckons we’re both living a lie and our whole marriage was a sham from the start.”
“Typical,” grumbled Mavis. “We have one little tiff down at the fish and chip shop and next minute the whole world knows about it.” She looked at Kev plaintively. “I can’t take any more of this. I have to get away. I need a holiday.”
Kev sighed. “If only it were so easy. But wherever we go, the Royal Family are sure to track us down. Just like last year, at the caravan park in Merimbula.”
“Don’t remind me,” said Mavis, rolling her eyes. “I’ll never forgive the Queen for saying she thought my dresses were dowdy.”
“And what about when Prince Charles made all those jokes about my nose.”
“But the worst was that Fergie, always following me into the shower block, teasing me about my weight.” Mavis shuddered at the recollection. “It was so humiliating.”
Kev held out a hand to his wife. “Sorry honey, I guess we’ll just have to stay put. But let’s try to see the bright side. Think of all the things we’ve got. A house in the suburbs. A crippling mortgage. A couple of dead end jobs. While all they’ve got is fame, wealth and celebrity. When you look at it that way, it’s no wonder they all want a piece of our lives.”
