Whither the Wide-Mouth Frog?

A few of us at work were chatting about the benefits of having memberships to various places and institutions.

"I belong to the zoo," said one chap, unfortunately for him just as Canned Ham walked past.

"That's nice," she said. "What enclosure do they keep you in?"

This tickled me no end, and then the Ham turned on me.

"Watch it, hb. With a laugh like that they'll have you in with the hyenas."

Aaaaaand....RACING!

Around March this year I bought, on impulse, a hat. Then I texted Boxer Girl and said, "I've bought a hat! Hope you're having a Melbourne Cup do because I've got a hat to wear!"

I wasn't too worried about imposing on my friend. She may grizzle about having 175 people round to her abode for causal nibbles but that's just to disguise how much she enjoys organising a knees up. A few weeks ago I was feeling rather pleased to have been invited to her friend One-Eye's 50th, which Boxer Girl had insisted on hosting.

"Hey, are you having a Melbourne Cup bash this year?" I asked her.

"Well, I have to, don't I? You've bought a hat!"

And so it came to pass that cheese and champagne was handed around, the oldies danced in a conga line, and Canned Ham did overindulge and overdivulge. I was sober; it was a harsh scene.

It's the journey, not the destination.

With the way she carries on - "I've been on my own for twelve years!" - Canned Ham would have you think that since the demise of her marriage she has been a tragic, loveless spinster. The truth is a little different. The Ham has had many suitors and by her own admission has deliberately chosen not to settle down with any of them. She'd prefer to play the field than stake it all on a single...well...stallion.

Recently, one old flame - a rogue by all accounts - has drifted back on to the scene and Ham was going out to dinner with him and a few others last Friday night. She'd mention this approaching dinner every now and then and each time I'd feel compelled to question The Canned One's ability to resist this man's charms.

"Don't go there, hb!" she'd say. Or else she'd vow, "I'm not going there!" And so it went all week. The Ham was not "going there" and no one else was to even contemplate "going there" either. It didn't matter where there was, or what the, er, route, might be like, she was not interested in going, or even being, there, and the rest of us were well advised not to "go there" with regard to whether she went there or not, which she most emphatically wasn't doing.

When I came in to work on Monday and I finally saw The Ham, I asked her, "Well?" A look was all reply I got. Did she go there? Did she not go there? The answer may have to remain a mystery. All I know is, I won't be rifling through her rubbish looking for any ticket stubs.

For once, it wasn't me.

It's Loud Shirt Day today. A few people here at work are getting into the spirit of things. Canned Ham was with me as we watched a gentleman stroll by in a rather eye-popping and downright hideous creation. I was commenting to the Ham on the fact that we had both neglected to observe the dress requirements.

What Canned Ham meant to say: I don't need a specific day set aside just to be loud.

What Canned Ham said: I'm loud without a shirt on.

That acorn fell right on the root ball.

Canned Ham reports that her daughter told her, "I'm waiting to be stimulated by Ruddy's package."

Someone get that woman a pony!

From: Boxer Girl@
Sent: Wednesday, 18 March 2009 3:37PM
To: hazelblackberry@
Subject: RE:

.....Canned Ham has a blood pressure monitor on and keeps telling everyone that she is going off every half an hour - which she says she hasn't done in a long time - way too much information there.....

The Bitter Aftertaste

I was getting deafer and deafer in one ear and, thinking there might be something wrong, I took myself off to the doctor to get it checked out. Turns out, embarrassingly enough, that my eardrum was completely covered in ear wax. I don't know why but I find ear wax deeply embarrassing. Like dandruff. I feel as though it points to some fundamental failing in me. Or on me, as the case may be. So the doctor marched me round to the nurse, who syringed my ear and got all the wax out.

What a marvellous sensation to be hearing in 3D again! Sometimes I understand how evangelicals must feel. Though I'm not sure how much proselytising one could do on the wonders of ear wax removal.

I was telling Canned Ham about it. Turns out her ex-husband had suffered from wax build-up and had to go to the doctor regularly to get it all removed. After she told me this she paused for a minute, then burst out laughing and said, "That's probably why he doesn't have any brains left."

Huge Ackman

Because I'm in no position to recall, in detail, the events of yester eve, New Girl kindly sent me a document describing the evening's highlights. I'm not going to blog them all. Probably especially not "Acceptance speech lines we would all use". But here's a couple that are suitable for public consumption:

--------------------------

We watched Heath’s family accept his award. His sister addressed Health directly.

"He’s not there!" yelled Canned Ham from the back of the room.
"He’s floating above them all, that’s how it works," New Girl informed her.
"He was Batman not Superman," she replied.

--------------------------

I was taking some photos and when it came time to snap Girls Boxer and New and Canned Ham, the Girls complied but the Ham carried on a treat. Like a pork chop, even. So I told her that she takes a lovely photo when she relaxes and smiles.

Canned Ham: "Me, look good? That’s not natural. [then posing, but noticing] My glass is empty!"
New Girl: "Now that's not natural."

Investment Portfolio

Lunching with Boxer Girl and Canned Ham I was worriedly eyeing off The Ham's heaving bosom, threatening to spill forth from her blouse.

"Ham, I'm not perving on you. Do you realise the top button of your shirt's undone?"

"I've got too fat for this top - I'm busting out of it! Do you think anyone's noticed?"

"Don't worry about it. They're an asset - you want them to attract interest."

Like the Meadows

Canned Ham said, "You know, hb, lately you look so great. You're glowing!"

Isn't that sweet of her?

Of course, we all know it's just the broken capillaries.

"Just a kid with some crazy dreams."

An Evening on the Green with Leonard Cohen!*

A perfect afternoon. A perfecter evening.

At first I thought, somewhat disappointingly, that Canned Ham was going to behave herself all day. Then she fell out of her chair and spilled wine everywhere. It was a magical sight.

Thanks EVA SO to k. for the tix and to all the girls for a great night out.



*For those not in the know, it refers to a location and not to some communal drug fest.

Always the Last Word

I’ve only been to Canned Ham’s house a couple of times, and always from my place, so when I dropped her home after work yesterday evening we were coming from the city and she had to show me the way.

She convinced me to stay for a glass of champagne, which turned into I’m-not-sure-how-many because my hostess was keen to provide refills when the glass was only half empty. After a couple of hours of much convivial chat, I decided I really had to go*. As I got in my car The Ham had a look of concern on her face.

“Do you know where you’re going, haze?”

I looked at her. “Yeah. Home.”

------------------------------------------

While we were scoffing brie and guzzling champagne The Ham’s daughter came in the front door. She’s turning 21 soon and Ham decided then and there that I should make her party invitations. We chatted about what she might like for a little while and then I remembered some thank you cards I had in the car that I made a while ago but am only just getting round to using. I brought one in to show the young lass. She quite liked the look of it.

Later, as I backed the car out of the driveway, The Ham called out to me. I stopped and she came over to the window: “Now, haze, I’m not going to make you a card, but thank you for the lift home all the same.”



*A couch and a DVD required my urgent attention.

The Carnival is Over

I got together with Boxer Girl and Canned Ham for lunch and a few glasses of champagne. The Ham was complaining that at her slightly advanced years, eligible suitors were hard to come by.

"The only men interested in me are at least sixty. I don't want to be a nursemaid!"

"Ham," said BG, "they're not all in nappies at that age."

No. But I bet a lot of them want to be.

Christmas drinks with the girls

The worst part is waking up in the small hours with a raging thirst, the beginnings of a super headache massing in different parts of your brain, and when you get up to do something about all this, you're still staggering down the hallway, bouncing into the walls as you go.

The evening passed in a very pleasant blur. The one thing I do remember is Canned Ham telling us that when she gets up in the morning these days she moans and groans a lot because she's hurt her back. She got up in such a fashion one morning this week to find her daughter's boyfriend hanging around in the hallway giving her a rather smug and smirkful look. She looked him up and down in turn and asked him, "And how's your back this morning, mister?"

New Girl, who gave the shindig a miss, very kindly came to pick me up and drove me home, and when we got here she had a Bailey's with me. I'm sure that's what did all the damage.

But I'll just leave you with this...

New Girl and I were in the back of a car that also held Canned Ham and our 'Business Manager' at work. Canned Ham and 'BM' were in the front chatting about places they'd like to travel.

"I want to do Rome."
"Yes, I'd like to do that and I want to do the Grand Canyon."
"I've done the Grand Canyon but I really, really want to do Alaska."

I couldn't help myself. I leaned over and said to New Girl, "I just want to do Dallas."

I think my resolution for 2008 should be to inject some dignity into my life.

A Limp

Canned Ham took a tumble down a flight of stairs last year and did some major damage to her foot. She had treatment on it for a long time and, fifteen months later, it's still giving her trouble.

On Friday she told me, "The doctor said yesterday that I have a permanent partial disability."

We looked at each other in silence for quite a while. No other words were needed.

In the clutch, and holding one

Normally it's Canned Ham who gets into these sorts of pickles (ha ha!) so I was happy to take the heat off her for a change. Still, she can always be relied upon to come to the party in more ways than one.

Half way through the evening the Most V of all the VIPs arrived. He gave a short speech summing up yet another thrilling year in our field of endeavour and stayed for a while to mingle with the plebs.

A few of us were having a laugh at how WiseMan had bailed up Most V to talk about how he'd been at the same function as Most V and his partner and had enjoyed watching them carve up the dance floor. "Cutting a rug" was the term I used.

The Ham cast a glance over her shoulder to where Most V was standing only a couple of metres away, his pate shining in the soft glow of the fluorescent lights. "I don't know about cutting one," she said, "but he certainly needs a rug."

Rapacious

Canned Ham is off for a week's holiday in Broome.

We have a whiteboard in our reception area with all our names on it and a tick next to each name showing whether we are in or out. When I was on holidays New Girl drew a beret, a croissant and the Eiffel Tower next to my name, and she has done similar pictures for others. She told the Ham that she was going to draw a picture of her in a bikini for while she was away.

"That's great!" said the Ham. "And just so you get it right, bear in mind that I had my firebreaks done yesterday."

Racy

On Melbourne Cup day Boxer Girl invited a few people to her place for lunch. Our colleague Canned Ham was, naturally, among the invitees because what social gathering is complete without the Ham bringing her special touch of magic to it. To wit:

(1) A little under half way through the afternoon, and a little more than three quarters of the way through her bottle of wine, I wandered into a conversation between Canned Ham and a girl we know called Nestegg. Nestegg's mother died suddenly a few weeks ago. With the encouragement of Boxer Girl's mother, Canned Ham was lightheartedly investigating the possibility of Nestegg's dad's interest in a booty call sometime in the future.

"Hells bells, Ham," I said. "The poor man's only been a widower for about six weeks. Maybe give him a few more days."

The Ham and BG's mother were cackling away. Nestegg turned to me and said, "I reckon the Ham could be quite good for Dad. The only thing is, I'm afraid she'd scare him to death."

(2) Not too long after this incident Canned Ham announced, with the air of one imparting news of a great tragedy, that she'd finished all of her wine. Boxer Girl asked her if she'd like a glass of water. The Ham looked horrified. "Nooooo!"

She is the birthday girl. We gave her some leeway.

This morning we had a morning tea for Canned Ham's birthday. At some point the conversation turned to clothing. WiseMan, who is a vertically challenged chap, was complaining that when he gets shirts big enough to fit his neck they are usually far too long in the arm. Someone suggested he just get short sleeved shirts but, lamented the very conservative WiseMan, then we'd all see that his arms are heavily tattooed with various raunchy scenarios.

Canned Ham could be described as being somewhat pneumatically built. If you get my drift. If I hadn't called her Canned Ham, I might have called her Jayne Mansfield. If you see where I'm coming from.

She waited until the frivolity had died down from WiseMan's comments and then said, "I know exactly what you mean. I'm always worried that if my shirt's too tight everyone will be looking at my tats."