Husband has gone bush – the Dept of Education are trying to convince him that teaching in BumFuck nowhere is a really good idea. Maybe for them…. But the minimum term is three (3) years. THREE YEARS ??? What are they thinking ??? I am afraid that isn’t going to happen. I mean, I love the country, the people are nice, you can get good scones at the CWA. But where am I supposed to get a decent espresso. Or visit a yarn shop with imported yarn porn. Or find a vet that will treat rabbits and not want to put them down as vermin. Six months, maybe. Three Years ? Yeah – and Monkeys might fly out my butt.

So. The husband is gone, and I can’t sleep properly, and the brother is away skiing (small consolation, the weather on the ski fields is ultra shitty), and I get a phone call from mother to say that dad (bless him, he came over while I went to work to help clean the house), has lost the Hare.

The hare has been missing before. Ask my friend Barry – it’s an entertaining story, but mothers will understand the terror I am going through. So I hang up the phone at work, and hop in my little Mazda 121, and hightail it home. The phone rings, a conversation ensues, cut short because of the Missing Hare Crisis. Then my dad loses the plot and starts shouting at me.

The father storms out, swears off hares forever, and I hear the screeching of very small tyres.

Cut back to living room. Lara in a puddle of tears, resolves to find hare. Quietly, without freaking him out even more. Hare is in the first place I look (under a clothes rack), and races back to the safety of the condo. Has a minor flap, but condescends to take treats from my hand. All is well. Except…..

The stress of all this finally lands on me, and a full blown hissy fit ensues.

Yup. I must be due for a period.

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