There’s big news afoot, but I’m too brain frazzled to write in detail about it right now. Expect an update to Third Time Round shortly.
Instead, I’m going to complain. Bloody Delta Goodrem tried (but failed) to steal my 2 year old son’s shoes…
Well, not exactly steal. Still. I need to vent somehow. Having dealt with last night’s dramatics (that’s the stuff I still have to mentally process and then I’ll write about it in the proper context), I headed out today to the Macquarie Shopping Centre to buy James some shoes — specifically there because it’s the nearest Big W, and they tend to have a decent range of cheapish kids shoes. Cheap kids shoes are a must, partly for wear and tear reasons, but mostly because they grow out of them so very quickly.
Unfortunately for me, I scheduled this visit to Big W right when Delta — Wikipedia tells me she’s “Australia’s sweetheart” — was doing an instore appearance. Now, she’s an ex-TV star and local pop celebrity. So, where do you think they put her to do her signing — or singing — or perhaps disembowelling budgies live on stage, for all I really care?
If you picked A) In the music department, you’d be wrong.
If you picked B) In the TV department, you’d be wrong.
If you even picked C) In the DVD department, near her DVDs, you’d still be wrong.
No, the correct answer is D) In the toddler shoes department. In the boy’s toddler shoes department. It all makes so much sense, doesn’t it? Well, except that her entire fanbase at the store appeared to all be about 12 years old, dazzlingly pink and resolutely female. Perhaps Delta’s got a secret (and rather disgusting) fetish that has previously been kept under tight PR control..
So, instead of a careful and considered trawl through teeny-tiny sneakers, I instead found myself surrounded by this teeming, swarming and glowing pink mass, alternately screaming and chanting DELTA-DELTA-DELTA like a bunch of badly programmed terminators. With two kids to control. And no space to move. And very little in the way of breathable air. Did I mention the badly tuned and positioned speakers blasting out “Out Of The Blue” in an insanely repetitive loop?
It was then that my stupidly stubborn gene — a Kidman specialty — kicked in, and I decided, come what may, that Delta Bloody Goodrem wasn’t going to stop my boy from having new shoes. So, despite the screaming — which was so loud that my daughter curled up into a ball and hid at the back of our stroller — and despite the hordes of shrill tweenage skanks — I gritted my teeth, tried to block my ears and tried shoes until I found the right pair. My resolve didn’t quite last to trying to find a matching pair of socks, though.
Bloody Delta Goodrem… I even got ignored by Rah and Magic Dan on the drive out when they nearly crunched into me in the Rah-mobile on the way out of the parking lot. From now on, I’ll be blaming everything on either Cashews or Delta Goodrem. Maybe both.