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Do you say the same things over and over again to your kids?

Well I do! Mainly because I’m a mum and kids do the same stuff over and over again so I repeat myself, over and over (and over) again.


Here’s my list of ‘Mum Sayings’ that I use ALL THE FREAKING TIME to my three munchkins:

1. I. Said. No!

2. Ummmm…maybe

3. What did I just say?

4. Where are your shoes

5. Hurry up!

6. I’m going to count to 3

7. Who didn’t flush?

8. I don’t care who started it

9. Love you!

10. Please. Get. In. The. Car

11. For the 3rd time, go and brush your teeth

12.Use your manners


14. What is that smell?


16. What do you mean “you don’t like it”?

17. Look at me when I’m talking to you

18. I beg your pardon?

19. What do you mean “it’s due tomorrow?”

20. We’re leaving in 5 minutes…for the love of God, hurry up

21. I also whisper “for fucks sake” to myself a crazy amount of times every day

Do you have any to add?

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The Bachelor 2018 – #002

Let me just do a combined hair flick and giggle before telling you about The Bachelor Australia tonight with Nick ‘Honey Badger’ Cummins

Aaaaand I’m done.


So here’s the ‘Update for Trashbags’ Episode 2 of The Bachelor.

Naturally we start off with a little bitch session on the lounge in the MANSION. It was the perfect opportunity to get us acquainted with potential #bachbitch Romy. Ummmm, did I miss something last night? I just thought it was #Bitch1 Bali Cat and #Bitch2 Vanessa Fucking Sunshine. When did Romy earn her bitch stripes? Hmmmmm?

We take a look at Cass and she’s looking around the room still confused as to why there are other chicks there. She glared at Brooke the holder of the Badger Slapper Key and proclaimed

“HELLLOOOOOOO!!!! Nick is mine! I pashed him a few months ago and even though he hasn’t seen me observing him from a close distance, I know he still wants me. Comfuckingprende BITCHES?” before flicking her crappy hair extensions nervously. Seriously, I’ve had 4 hairdressers scream blue murder today about her hair. WTF is going on Cass?

Nek minute, Osher walks in and some of the girls seemed to get little vag quivers. It was only after one exclaimed “oohhh, Usher” that I realised they’re actually confusing Osher for Usher…as in Usher. Yeah, nah he’s not Usher Darls, he’s actually OSHER FRUCKING GUNSBERG…and he’s as vanilla as you can get.

Single date.
Ooooooh, Shannon the arteeest glasses wearing car-care consultant is the lucky Sheila! Shannon looked “tippy top’ and met up with Nick who was playing with his solo ball on a random field. Nek minute a helicopter (WHAT? HOW MUCH FREAKING MONEY DO YOU HAVE CHANNEL 10?? You spring for a limo AND a helicopter???) arrived and Nick yelled in his best Arnie “Hey Shan, get to the chopper” The date seemed to go well, although Shannon spent the entire time staring intently into the Badgemiesters eyes like she was trying to hypnotise a snake. #lasereyesshan

Shan arrived back upset she didn’t get a kiss but disguised it well by saying “nahhh, I’m full of morals chicks, I don’t do that on the first date.

Cass smiles and does another piece to camera where she says “Have I mentioned that I know Nick?” #prayforcass


Group Dates

Ok, so group date for half the sheila’s was a sponsored photo shoot by Newscorp with their Entertainment guy “J MO”. There were four painful segments:

1) 80’s rock where Cass and her hair piece rocked some desperate leather and Romy licked her lips while suggestively humping a blow up guitar.

2)Firefighter Badger with Brooke the Slapper Key holder and Vanessa Fucking Sunshine. VFS wasn’t happy as she couldn’t stand too close to the fake heat (for fear of melting) and Brooke played the eyelash fluttering victim #omghecticchemistry

3) School. Cayla stood around as the naughty teacher looking like she had a wide-on while Cat did her best Kylie Mole impersonation.


4) The Yoga Badger. The Badge and Sophie. All I can say is that I’m glad poor Sophie didn’t do a rabid pop-off while giggling her way through the downward dingo. Crikey, that would have been awks.

The only thing I really learned so far was that there are now three bitchy amigos; Bali Cat, Randy Romy and Happy To Be In With The Cool Group, Alysha. To be honest, Randy and HTBITCG Alysha also seem to have some girl crush on Bali Cat. #meangirls



Nick arrived and poor Cass just stood behind him chanting “Nick, Nick, Nick, Nick, Nick” until he finally turned around to keep her quiet. Then he chooses Randy Romy as his pizza date at his Uncle Mike’s (shameless nepotism promo, well done) pizza restaurant in Manly (anyone else disappointed that Dean from Married At First Sight Australia didn’t ride by rapping on his skateboard?). Randy Romy wanted jalapenos and the Honey Badger didn’t want a bar of the ring stingers/bum burners. Uncle Mick disappeared and let the kids have a flour fight before Randy Romy tried desperately to outshine Brooke (the Slapper Key Holder) by sticking her hardened, randy moist tongue down his throat.

Now I’m no David Attenborough wildlife commentator but honestly, the Badger looked like a deer in the headlights with a massive semi bearing down on him. #runfordearfuckinglife

Randy Romy arrived back boasting about the first “authentic organic kiss” (AHHHHHH, DID I FUCKING MISS HIM RESPONDING TO THE HARDENED MOIST TONGUE???) and made Laser Eyes Shannon cry. Randy Romy then pissed off Tenille by interrupting a chat and tried to (once again) stick her hardened, moist tongue down the Badger’s throat. STOP IT ALREADY, I’M GETTING UNCOMFORTABLE! #bestrongbadgemeister

Rose ceremony and another moment for the producers to give Cass a deadest freaking coronary. Have I mentioned that Cass knows Nick and gets butterflies?

Blah blah blah…and it was a big HOOROO for Renee and the Bondi Rescue chick.

Faaaark, I’m exhausted

Fi xx

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Its easy to blame a game like Fortnite

I think it’s pretty easy to blame a game like Fortnite for everything that’s wrong in the world…I also think that it’s pretty bloody ridiculous to do so.

My 10 year old is pretty keen to get Fortnite. We’ve told him that if he saves half the cost of a PS4, we’ll match it and get him a new one (and Fortnite) for Christmas.

Mr 10 has an old Wii and we just don’t see any real hurry in buying a newer, cooler version. I know that once he gets it, the same rules for screen-time will apply to what he has now.

There’s no Netflix/Internet/Wii at all during the week (unless it’s school-related internet) and timed on the weekends. They still get TV time with us around so we can see what they watch.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m no raving Screamer on this as I’ve been guilty of letting my kids be slack-jawed when I’ve needed to get things done (I hate admitting that, but we’ve all done it). I know this level of limits probably won’t last forever, but right now it’s still working for us – and for that I’m glad.

I’ve heard about primary schoolers playing games like Fortnite for 4 hours a night. 4 freaking hours! Ummmmm what? And it’s all Fortnite’s fault?

How the hell is a primary school kid allowed on a freaking game for 4 hours a night? How is that even possible? I’m no parenting expert (obviously) but if you allow a kid 4 hours of intensive gaming, surely YOU are the one that’s encouraging shitty behavior?

Bueller, Bueller, Bueller?

I’ve read/seen enough online bitching about Fortnite that it definitely gives me pause. “There’s swearing from players, levels of addiction, actual killing, it’s the spawn of the devil yada yada yada” and yet, with all this moaning, these parents still let their kids play.

I’m so confused.

If it’s really that bad, why don’t you just turn it off, play with them, limit their freaking screen time and kick them outside to play? I even read a story about a child that has missed out on school for the last 2 years due to his level of addiction.

What the actual fuck?

We’ll be letting our kid play the game after Christmas and you can 100% guarantee that i’ll be playing the game with him at times. I grew up playing games like Galaga, Frogger , Pac-Man, Mario Bros (yeah, yeah, I’m old and they’re old) and the pinnies, but I can tell you that I will, in fact, kick his arse all over town…When he’s allowed to play it and he’s not outside kicking his footy

What are your thoughts on games like this?


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The Bachelor 2018 – #001

Well stone the crows, The Bachelor Australia Nick ‘Honey Badger’ Cummins is a freaking mop topped LOVE WEAPON!

Here’s the update for Trashbags – episode one.

Ok, let’s be honest, good old Osher is incredibly pumped that he gets a Bachelor with an actual personality to play with this year. And you can tell Osher’s twitchy by the way you may have spied a little movement in his duds when the Honey Badger walked in. The Badgemeister walked in and smiled while throwing out sayings (think Cooee, prawns and caterpillar socks all thrown together in one conversation) and mentioning that he was nervous because of all the ‘good sorts’


Ehhhmeeehgeeerd, Osher and Nick just stood there giggling like naughty school boys looking at booby pictures.

Anywho, moving quickly along to the laaaadies arrival because “there’s nothing you can’t get through if you hit it with pace” (thanks Nick’s dad)


The Arrivals

1. Shannon – car care consultant and authentic artiiiiist as she paints while wearing glasses and drinking red wine. Seriously, wtf is a car care consultant? Is that code for car wash lady?

2. Brooke – Youth worker. Seriously Brooke, when a Producer says “hey, you need to get noticed, here’s some balls to carry” DO NOT FUCKING LISTEN TO THEM! And what a strange coincidence that Nick plays on the wing as well (Diedre Chalmers, fancy seeing you here!) FFS, no love, NO!

3. Brittany – Radiographer…yup. ‘You can call me Britt’ is a traveler and has gone to 49 countries and wants to make Nick her 50th country. Ummmm, slightly awkward, as much as his hair looks like the Australian bush love, he’s not an actual country.

4. Cayla – the energy healer and my first ‘what the fuck?’ moment. I’m sorry all you hippy types, but honestly I can’t even deal with Cayla. She walked in telling him he was in her dream and carrying a pink love rock. Yup. I’m almost positive they edited out the part where Cayla rubbed the love rock on her foofa before asking Nick to sleep with it beside him.


5. Cat – A ‘farshun designer’ running an empire daaahling from Bali. “He loved me for sure” 🤢

6 – 9 was a blur (come on people, give me some freaking drama)

Oooh, a limo pulls up and one of the women, Cass, has been on a few dates and maybe even rubbed her boobies on Nick……….ooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhh STOP IT!!

10. Sophie jumps out while Cass is stressing in the limo (yes, posh cars only Darls) about her feelings. OMG CASS LOVES HIM! Sophie has a nice time talking about the water.

11. OMFG Cass is getting out of the posh car to make her way to the man she’s pashed. WHAT??? Ooh, I think The Badge did that face, you know, THAT face where you are like “WHAT IS SHE DOING HERE? Nooooo, true love will be dead in Cass’s life forever.

12-23 Blur of women that are obviously not making an impact till later (like later on at the ceremony WHEN THEY DON’T GET A ROSE)

24. Dasha from Russian Adelaide. Seriously, what did I just watch? “DARRRSHA FROM RARRRSHA” literally did a standing reverse handstand with a muff exposing twist fair in the Badgers face. Literally, a beaver attacked the badger. She scared me.

25. Last but not least, Vanessa Fucking Sunshine (it’s “Vanessa Sunshiiine”) walks in. Ok, this girl has confidence coming out of her…ummm…sunshine and it’s blinding. As in blindingly fucking annoying.

The Cocktail party
Okay, so I know they’re going to make Cat a bit of a villain mainly because she suits the role so bloody well) but dur already. So it’ll be Cat and Vanessa SUNSHINE competing for #bachbitch

Cass looks around with crazy eyes trying to work out why all these other women are in the room. NOOOOOO, I have rubbed Nick up and I DESERVE TO BE WITH HIM, WHAT ARE YOU ALL DOING HEEEERRRRRE??? I almost feel sorry for Cass as the producers are all like “fark, it’s only Ep 1 and we’ve got an actual crazy in-love stalker – somebody get her some Tequila STAT!”

Osher walks into the room and the girls all start strangely chanting “Osher, Osher, Osher”.There was so much love for him that I’m pretty sure I saw some more wooden movement in his pants.

While we’re talking pants movement, there’s a worldwide first in Australian Bachelor (YOWZA!) the Badger will be giving out a key to his room. OMG, who wouldn’t want the Slapper Key of Love so you can jump the Badge anytime you feel like it? Huh?

The camera constantly finds Cass in a state of blotchy anxiety. Every single time she tries to get near Nick, the song “Desperado” starts playing in the background.


Anyway, more happened. Cat confronted Sophie about dating her ex (#BASICBITCH) Vanessa Sunshine looked nothing like a ray of sunshine, some crazy chick jumped in the pool to get noticed (didn’t work) and then Cassie went for a chat with Nick.

For the love of freaking GOD, somebody please stop the poor girl as I’m starting to feel bad for her. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good trainwreck as much as the next #basicbitch but Nick is doing THAT desperate “help” look again. Cass declared her undying love by admitting she’d put Nck’s name down in her glitter covered dream coming to reality wish diary and I swear the Badger’s actual sphincter tightened right there on the screen.

The badger went hunting for Brooke the sweet girl (who carried her balls in) and gave her the Slapper key to the Badger’s room. Literal venom shot out in her direction from every woman in the MANSION

The rose ceremony came and Cass nearly had a coronary and cried when she got the rose. #blessedandmydiamondcoveredwishdiaryworked and Vanessa Fucking Sunshine absolutely seethed like a big seething sunshiny seething thing.

Pretty much everyone who got airtime got a rose and the background girls (no airtime girls) missed out.

Stay tuned to watch Cass cry tomorrow night


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Reason #4,196 why parents like to drink booze…

This morning we were all awake “extra early” so we wouldn’t be late for school. Sounds easy right? Was I an idiot for being that that optimistic on a Friday morning? Apparently, I was.



With TWO freaking hours to get ready instead of the normal 50 minutes, I thought we’d smash it. M1 had a soccer gala day locally, M2 had her gala day down the coast and M3 had a ‘normal’ day at school.

Easy Peasy for a normal family Feasy (get it? I’m Fi so ‘Feasy – right? I’m like a poet)

I made the lunches early, the Husband took M2 to school for the soccer bus, M1 got himself ready and M3…well, she just kinda hung around doing cartwheels and gymnastic thing-a-ma-jigs. In the TWO HOURS, we had to get ready, she ate breakfast (one painfully slow mouthful at a time) put on her sports uniform and cleaned her muddy, once white sports shoes in the bathroom sink. YUP.

That was pretty much it.

I spent the entire morning walking around with the nagging “hurry up M3, we need to leave early today” and kept getting “Muuuuuum, I KNOW stop telling me to hurry up” in return.

Mumble mumble farking mumble, split syllable swearing inside my head, mutter farking mutter.

So…with the last warning of “WILL YOU PLEEEEEEEASE HURRY UP M3” she said “OK MUUUM, I’M READY!!!” but was she? Really? If by “I’M READY” it meant her newly washed shoes were on, her teeth were brushed, her lunch box was in her bag and her water bottle was full, well, then no, she wasn’t farking ready.

So…I kept pestering her to do her teeth while muttering incoherent swearwords and helping her so we could FINALLY leave the house. Once we were in the car, I actually felt like I was the arsehole for hurrying her up and nagging. How is that even possible that I felt like the stressed out bad guy?

Then a girlfriend rang and said “hey darl, would you mind picking up my kid as my car won’t start and it’s been one of those mornings” I love that sense of comfort that I’m not the only Mum out there that doesn’t belong in the Insta-perfect world.

Does anybody else struggle to get their kids out of the house on a school morning?



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I make some pretty dopey decisions at times.

Like speaking to people after drinking, thinking I’ll get the kids to school on time or when I go to the supermarket to buy just “a couple of things” and optimistically refuse to grab a shopping trolley.

“She’ll be right” I’ll think to myself, “I only need a couple of things and won’t need a trolley” 😬 So I arrogantly prance around with my Go-Go Gadget arms, grab the “2” things I need and then stupidly go “ooooh, looky here…weetbix is on sale, ummmm…I could definitively use some more detergent, ahhhhhh I need butter/toilet paper/milk/and….hmmmmm, ooooh the kids like those…oh, hang on…oooh, yup, I’d better grab some of those too”

Nek minute…

I look like a drunk toddler with an armful of toys dropping one fucking thing after another. Yup, I’m determined to make it to the counter without a trolley (or even a basket) because that would clearly be a waste of my time. So I just continue to walk around dropping things while pretending the milk and frozen peas aren’t cold enough to make me lose feeling in my left arm.


I finally give up and walk back to the front of the store like I’m on a trampy walk of shame (you know, where you’re a bit flustered and mortified you’ve been caught in public this way) and have to ask if I can go out and get a trolley.

Double FFS

To be fair, if Woolworths and Coles could get it together and leave random trolleys in the middle of stores for hapless shoppers like me, none of this ridiculousness would happen.

Am I right?

Fi xx


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Do you know what a FUPA is?

Beyoncé had total control of the September issue of Vogue and at first, I was all like “Mehhhh…who cares?” until I heard she talked about her FUPA.

“FUPA? What the hell is a FUPA?” I thought. Was it the French competitor to that health insurance company, Bupa?

Ahhhhh, no Fiona, you bloody idiot, it’s nothing remotely resembling healthcare.

After some investigation, I discovered two different versions of the acronym but both had the same meaning. The version I prefer as the explanation is that FUPA is the “FAT UNDER PUSSY (OR PENIS) AREA” and the more formal version (for posh folk unlike me) is that FUPA is the “FAT UPPER PUBIC AREA”

Coolio, it has a name other than ‘fatty box’ and I love that I now know a new term for it.

I actually thought that area was where us women put on weight (out of consideration of course, ’cause that’s how we all roll) so their husbands/partners/lovers had somewhere to rest their head when they….ummmmmm… know…..when they’re being considerate and giving us some intimate action

Ahem….cough cough, moving on.

So anywho, Beyoncé has blown up the internet by simply saying

“But right now, my little FUPA and I feel like we are meant to be”

Yup. That’s it. Blown up the fucking internet because everyone is so pumped that Beyoncé has had kids and (like pretty much all women in the world) now has a little pouch for Jay-Z to rest his head on when he’s serving his Boss

Good on you Beyoncé for keeping it real. Love your work and I do genuinely love that she’s sharing some positive body messages to people…yada yada yada…

Saying that though, I really just want to add some other words to everyone’s armory, ’cause I love learning new words. I mean how cool is it that I can now throw “FUPA” out into the world with some regularity.? Cool as fuck right?

So now it’s my turn to have a crack (pardon me) at writing out some interesting words that everyday women call their bits: GUNT, DROOPY MILK PUPPIES., BROKEN FOOFA, CHUBBY BOX, THE FRETTING QUOKKA, HAIRY HARMONICA, FAT FLAP and my old fave, the DIMPLED ARSE

And I’m done. Why don’t you blow the bastard internet up with them too hey?


Fi xx

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The Bachelor 2018 – #000

Will anyone else be watching The Bachelor Australia tonight?

I’ve just had a goosey gander (I’m trying to get into the Honey Badger lingo groove) at the line-up of love hopefuls and they look like the usual Bachie suspects: the one with a strong accent, the hippy, the hard nose feminist type, a few wifey types, the botox lovers, the fitness chicks, the intelligent chicks, the booby chicks, one that will term a new ‘dirty street pie’ phrase and the one that has already rubbed their bits against the Main Man himself.

Ho-hum, same same, no different.



BUT it’s car-crash TV at it’s finest and I, for one, will be hanging on to every crazy expression and eyebrow raise that Nick ‘Honey Badger’ Cummins can throw at the camera.

Fi xx


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At the end of the day, I think I’m a pretty good mum.

I’m by no means one of those amaze-balls mums – and to be honest, I don’t even believe there really is such a thing. I can honestly tell you that my intentions are (almost) always pure, my heart is full and I love my family with a wildly ferocious heart.

Do all of these magical fairy dusted emotions stop me from being an absolute arsehole to my children and husband at times?

Nope. Not at all.

I yell and carry on like an absolute arsehole…and not just any arsehole, I’m talking about a big ugly one with sweaty hairy balls hanging down the crack while flipping the bird to the world.

I don’t even mean to carry on like the proverbial bum-bum, but there are random occasions when I imagine yelling “farrrrk you” to them all while running away to a deserted Island with Adam (I’m actually referring to Adam Levine here – not my husband) drink cocktails and then just ummmm…stare at him.

My arsehole moments are admittedly random, erratic and generally wildly unwarranted. I don’t really even sweat the big stuff – the big stuff I can take care of easily with my stress levels intact. I just crack it over the tiniest of things because apparently, that’s what mum’s do.

Could it be because the little stuff is out of our control? Like when I actually resented the crap out of my hubbie for not having a big cut under his balls from delivering our babies into the world. Yup.

How ridiculous was that sad but true thought in my head?

I’ve even been jealous that my hubbie can jump up and down on a trampoline with the kids without piddling himself.

I’ve resented my kids for never sleeping in. For the love of God small insomniac children, just sleep-in for one fucking day so that Mummy can play catch up on sleep… and maybe even have a languid sexual encounter with my husband (and his non-delivering balls)

I sometimes crack it that we can’t go out for dinner without having to book a babysitter 2.5 years in advance.

I get the ferocious eye-roll combined with teeth-gritting grimace when I see a Facebook post of the braiding, Lorna Jayne, muffin baking, label wearing, always smiling mum when she posts perfect photos of her neat-arsed children in her perfect house. Liars Liars pants on ummmm, ‘fires’

I crack it at the remnants of toast on the kitchen bench

I become an arsehole sometimes when I can’t do a poop by myself without having to zip up a dress, talk about school or even just be stared at mid-strain by an adoring trio of primary schoolers.

I crack it at the husband for fondling me when I’m unpacking the dishwasher…and then I’ll crack it at him if he doesn’t fondle me when I’m unpacking the dishwasher. HUH?

I’ve even been mad at a school shoe.

A. School. Shoe.

I’ve picked it up and thrown it against a wall because the stupid bastard MOFO thing hid itself when we were late for school.

These things are utterly ridiculous to get mad about, but hey, if that’s all I’ve got – this stupid random shit that only ever bothers mums – my life can’t be too bad, can it?

I have a spunky, helpful, loving sexy beast of a husband who is an amazing father, three well balanced and healthy kids that adore the hell out of us and I have my health, wealth (haaahaaaaa – that wealth part isn’t true!) food on the table, two arms, two legs and a heartbeat.

Maybe I should just take a deep breath and remember that the next time I’m yelling at a shoe.

Or not.

Surely I’m not alone in the psycho tantrum stakes?


Bueller? Beuller? Bueller?

Fi xx

Adam Levine (haaaahaaaaaaa)

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Warning: POOP ALERT!

Warning: POOP story alert.

Only a handful of my friends and family know about this.

I eventually thought I’d share it, but for some reason, I’ve always felt particularly horrified that it actually happened.

Anyhoo… today just feels like the right day to share one of my more mortifying “Australian” experiences of my life.

The Husband and I had decided early on that we were “the ones” and knew we’d get married yadda yadda yada…one night Adam did the whole “you know I love you, we’ll get married…but can we start trying to get pregnant now?”

A couple of romps and three weeks later I was pregnant. High fives and “yes Dear, you’re the Inseminator” jokes all round.

I made mention to Future Husband early on of not wanting to be a pregnant bride. It had nothing to do with appearances, I was more concerned with watching 148 of our wedding guests drink Champagne while I sat there in a tainted white dress, fat and cranky jealously sucking on some overpriced effing mineral water.

Even though I maintained this stance throughout my pregnancy, I still didn’t have a ring on my finger at 7 months along. It was Summer so I was fat, hot and a tad emotional that we weren’t ‘officially’ engaged. I should have listened to Beyoncé #wheresmyringyoubastard

On the morning of my birthday (December 14 for future reference people) FH was all sweet and blah blah. He said, “ooooh, I’ve taken the day off and I’m going to take you on a picnic down by the lake”

Nice. As a heavily pregnant starving woman who had only just consumed 1900 calories for breakfast, a picnic sounded fab! So off we went. We drove the car the incredible distance of 900 metres and then I waddled a further 200 metres to a sandy private area by the lake.

Lovely jubbly.

FH spread out a picnic blanket and put out a few little pregnancy approved (read: everything on the planet) munchies for us. I waddled into the water and had a blood pressure cooling dip.

I must admit FH seemed a tad nervous – but in my bloated unmarried pregnant mind, I just assumed he was on edge about being near a hormonally fueled pregnant woman.

And then I felt a low rumbling.

Oh for the love of God and Adam Levine’s naked body, please not now. Not here. But I suppose what goes in must come out. So I clenched my medium size butt cheeks and said to FH

“Oooh, I really need to go to the toilet”

“Just go and wee in the water babe” was his reasonable response.

“No Babe. I. Need.To. Do. A. Poo”

I started to panic as I wouldn’t make it to the Windang Surf Club toilets. Bikini-clad running pregnant women with clenched butt cheeks would never make a 200-meter dash in time. I also knew that an unsupported 90 kilo squat on a sandy knoll was completely out of the question.

So the FH said “Just go into the water and do an Aqua”

“Sorry? A What? An Aqua?”

“An Aqua…you just go in the water, pull your cossies to the side and do a poo. All the Clubbies do it. Just check the current though, you don’t want that thing coming back at you”

Oh. My. God.

I had heard rumors about this -and even knew not to swim in the warm-up area at a surf carnival. I just always thought that was about wee. Not a poo biscuit making a potential lunge at an unsuspecting swimmer.

Nope, definitely not for this ex-North Shore Girl non-clubbie classy Laaaady. I’m not a public pooper.

I don’t fucking think so.

But an urge is an urge. And a pregnant woman’s urges waits for no-one. So in I went. FH started giggling and yelling instructions from the shoreline.

Random thoughts of sharks being attracted to poo entered my mind. Could you imagine the headline:

“Pregnant woman’s bum torn out by a hungry shark”

Nervously I pulled my bikini bums to the side, defecated like a mad woman and then quickly swam away from the offending shark food.

I came out of the water feeling relieved, mortified and a tad corrupted. FH even had the common sense to look suitably impressed.

I sat on the picnic blanket and we chatted for a while about love, life and all things non-Aqua.

Nek minut..

FH had his hands inside the picnic bag fumbling with something. Out pops his hand with a diamond sparkler, his eyes get a little misty and he pops the question

“Will you marry me?”

Holy Aqua Batman! Of course, I said yes and cried the tears of a sober, pregnant, recently ocean pooping emotional woman.

Pretty much the next sentence out of my mouth was

“If you ever tell another soul about my Aqua though, I’ll seriously kill you”

Ain’t love grand?

It’s been 11 years and 3 kids since I fed the sharks at Windang on the South Coast now. Why not share this simple Australian story of poop and love with my friends?


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