At the airport
RHI: It’s Shauna’s first flight!
R: Shauna’s going to fly!
R: Shauna’s plane is moving!
R: Shauna’s first take-off!
45 minutes later
R: Shauna’s first landing!
S: Would you please shut up!
We nicked off to Melbourne for the weekend and it was fantastic. Armed with Momo’s definitive list of Groovy Things To See And Do we traipsed around and managed to pack a lot in to our short stay.
Next time I hope to meet some famous Melbourne kiddies but this time I was too disorganised and many people were out of town, although I did briefly get to see the rockin’ Nat and Scotty.
What a gorgeous city. The only thing stopping us from staying (aside from work and lack of finances) were our pathetic sore feet. Wherever I go I always seem to have inappropriate shoes. By Saturday afternoon our tootsies were swollen and blistered from clopping around town. The only option was to buy some new shoes.
So we limped around for another two hours searching for something within our paltry budget (drained thanks to amazing Melbourne shops). Finally in desperation we resorted to… gasp… Masseurs.
Masseurs are the plankton of the shoe food chain. They basically consist of a sad bit of cork with a strap to slide your tired feet into. They are the essence of cool, if you’re a scrag down the shops in Queanbeyan. But in a swanky boutique you look bloody stupid with an elongated coaster strapped to your foot. Vanity won out and we flipflopfled back to the hotel, but not before a very stylish lady looked down at my feet then back up at me with an alarmed expression.
“I’m from out of town! I brought the wrong shoes!” I wanted to whine, but she moved away rather quickly.
Needless to say the Massuers were banished to our suitcases and henceforth we hobbled.