Written by: FiFi Jo

One Monday morning somewhere in your city….

6.00am:

Walk  along Main Street in Backwater Suburb eating a croissant and looking  into shop windows admiring my reflection. Feeling very ‘Breakfast at  Tiffany’s’ until I discover my beehive looks more like a birds nest, my  dress has hand prints about the cleavage and a tyre mark across the hem,  one kitten heel has broken off and my croissant is actually cold toast.  Stick out hand for cab to immediately stop in front of me as per my  status decrees, but just get weird looks from teenager on skateboard.  Consider this mode of transportation for a moment but will not allow  myself to stoop to riding in anything without tinted windows, or indeed  an engine.

6.03am

Arrive home after endless walk of shame.

6.04am

Pass out.

3.18pm

Awoken in front garden flower bed by buzzing sounds, to discover birds nest hairdo now a real beehive.

3.18.30pm

Vow never to drink a carafe of cherry vodka followed by 6 Jagerbomb shooters EVER AGAIN

4.45pm

Ring  work and explain will not be in today, as suffering from RSI of wrist.  Boss explains cannot get Repetitive Strain Injury from dancing on  tables, and that as I start work at 9.00am had understandably figured  out I wasn’t coming in. Takes great pains in chuckling down phone that I  had missed out on Cheryl from HR’s birthday mudcake and gift giving  afternoon. Why he thinks I care to see a 65 year old opening naughty  underwear presents and crying about the lack of love life on which to  use them is beyond me. Reminded myself to get the $1.50 back that I had  put in.

5.10pm

As don’t own fridge decide to trundle down to local wine bar for ‘Happy Hour’ pick-me-up and free nibbles between 5.00 – 6.00pm.

5.20pm

Couple  at table next to me complain of lack of food whilst wait-staff explain  that they usually order enough to last the full hour. Luckily I can stay  svelt no matter how much I eat thanks to my Swedish genes (12  generations past) and the lack of money spent on actually buying  anything edible.

6.00pm

Call from best friend  needing assistance with two American sailors, a jug of alcopop and a  “rather posh penthouse with real art” in City.

…………….

6.00am

Walk along Main Street in Backwater Suburb eating a croissant and looking into shop windows admiring my reflection….

I've been writing about Fifi Jo - 'The true and damning account of a self obsessed mother and good-time girl' - for a year now. She is a lot of fun but not a bit like me (although I suspect there is a little of Fi Fi Jo on all of us!)

FiFi Jo

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