FiFi Jo Visits her Parents (Otherwise known as ‘A Beautiful Daughter’s Unfailing Duty to Decrepit Unappreciative Progenitors’).

Official true account of my unbearable week-long visit to parents’ 3 bedroom fibro dwelling in outer-suburbia dragging two kids, nine suitcases and a yearning desire for a decent flat white….

Day 1

Breakfast:

Instant black coffee with added healthy dash of father’s Bundaberg Rum

After chaining children to television set so that I may sleep until midday, decide lolling around pool on lilo with Homers ‘Odyssey’ may relax me. Wave to kids with their noses pressed to window. Decide to let them in for a swim when drool starts issuing from mouths, but as they splash Versace diamond studded two-piece, threaten to upgrade washing and mopping duty privileges toot-sweet.

Dinner:

1 dusty bottle of Peppermint Schnapps (found in linen closet behind souvenir tea towels from parents ‘Hawaiian Luau Voyage’ 7 years prior).

12 Port chasers

Day 2

Sister uses my celebrity status to get us into local Sporting Club, where she had previously been thrown out during Tom Jones look-alike contest on bodice-ripping and strangled cat noise violations. She doesn’t notice me slipping a couple of mustard backs* out of her handbag as she plays the ‘one-armed bandits’ (as she advises poker machines are so hilariously called). Like a woman bent on further bodice-ripping, she inhales her Semillion Sauvignon Blanc and takes her place on a stool she refers to as her ‘Lucky Chair’. I take opportunity to peruse male pickings and I can assure you that they are slim. One captain of rugby team that I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole (as already have) and three vice-captains of various sporting acheivments who I would touch, if they weren’t already entangled by large-sized fan base (and I don’t mean the number of girls). Give competition a hint to “step away from the tall one” by digging stilleto heel into her groin. Victoriously, provide winning male with a mad grope behind largest potted palm in Club Restaurant. Unfortunately, I am left with bad pash rash and leaf imprint on cheek. Advise sister I must be allergic to new budget lipstick bought from suburban shopping mall. She rightly so doesn’t believe me – I’ve never bought anything ‘budget’ in my life. ‘Lucky Chair’ proves a winner when sister’s meat tray ticket receives 2nd place -  12kgs of sausages.

Dinner:

Sausages ‘a la mode’

2 bottles Creme De Menthe (parents linen closet hits pay dirt again)

Day 3

Bored bored bored. Feel parents discouraging children’s artistic talents when find them walloping child’s behinds after what I thought was a lovely game of ‘tear down curtains and roll around in non-washable texta’ with them. Not agreeing with my idea that the 1970′s hexagonal print was out and new curtains were definitely required anyway, decide to liberate spawn to air-conditioned shopping mall in parents 1991 Toyota Corolla wagon. As won’t be seen driving anything less than an Aston Martin DB6 – Mark II (black) have used eldest son as cover by placing on lap and using five of my Chanel makeup mirrors in complex steering manoeuvre.

Arrive at mall with only 3 near misses, 2 birds flipped (by son), and 1 rather large driving fine (apparently police officer did not recognise self nor bestow me with respect I advised her was my due. Will let her off this time with warning as not sure if my celebrity status has reached this far into suburbia). Make my entrance into mall by handing keys to rather dubious young valet with enough tattoos to enlist him in next years Tropfest in ‘brooding moving image’ category.  Chain children in lift so they could enjoy free rides while I defiantly spend money meant for Roads & Traffic Authority fine on new Versace bathing suit.

1 hour later….

Upon finishing my three devoured ‘skim flat whites with four sugars’ (which I know for a fact were made by percolating Nescafe), noisily demand refund from thirteen year old pimply cafe worker with chip on shoulder (take note friends, stamping feet and threatening to be Facebook Friends works a charm on the younger generations). Heard name called over P.A. system….finally, someone realises there is a celebrity in their midst! (Was called up for “Dancing with the Stars” once until they realised they wanted the “other” FiFi). Arrive to find Mall Manager grasping offspring by cuffs of shirts a la “Dennis the Menace”. MM asks for my personal details but I explain that if he is trying to get a date with me, he needs to come up with something a little more subtle. Threaten MM with sexual harassment. Whilst his look of incredulity is no doubt a cover for what he’s really thinking about (my thigh-high boots and twin-loaded cone push-up bra), children and I take his momentary befuddlement as chance to saunter off in general direction of valet station.

2 hours later……

Find car minus tyres, doors and AM/FM stereo tape deck in alleyway behind mall. Drive back to parents.

Dinner:

Burnt sausages with suspiciously lumpy gravy

3 bottles ‘Passion Pop’ mother had bought in woeful fit of distress after our sheepish return

Day 4

Breakfast:

None – but sadly did manage to bring up half bottle of ‘Passion Pop’

Wake up to tune of glasses clinking and whispered hushes of “don’t wake the lush”

Dinner:

Sausage pie

3 bottles of that divine elixir (and useful coup de grace) ‘Passion Pop’

Day 5

Avoid calls from suitably impressed vice-captain after discover he’d been kicked from the team for showing up to photo shoot with bad pash rash and new over-zealous respect for ‘Passion Pop’.

Dinner:

Sausage ‘hotpot’

9 & 1/2 Port, Creme De Menthe and ‘Passion Pop’ shooters

Day 6

Awaken to drunken shouts from pool to discover ex Vice-Captain wallowing in lilo waving said elixir and signalling to my horrified mother to join him in what I can only hope is a Synchronized Swimming competition. Furiously push mother out of my way from her hiding place behind the couch in the other room. Upon entering pool area, notice father encouraging dim-witted athlete by waving team flag and shouting ‘I’ll join ya if yer like Smithy”! Ensure pool gate catches father’s knee squarely as I saunter by in new swimsuit.

3 seconds later….

Realise now why could buy Haute Couture off the rack at Suburban shopping mall when bathing suit falls apart upon entering over-chlorinated pool water. Didn’t think Versace was spelt with two ‘s’es. Ex Vice-Captain takes this as sign to pounce and for first time in my life am relieved my sister has a habitual desire for competition in continual game of one-upmanship with my unfailing ability to make any man stop and gasp at the sight of my svelte figure and model-like features (paid for by time spent in Eastern Block country – but that’s another story). Needless to say her every waking hour is consumed by jealousy and a bad back from continually flinging herself in front of me to get attention. This time allow her to dive into pool fully clothed as have decided that any man who calls upon a lady without buying her a gift valued over $300.00 isn’t worth it.

Day 7

Leave in huff after parents “accidentally” go on holiday and cut off power supply. Half way home, turn back for kids.

Yours,

FiFi xoxox

*AUD$50.00 notes