Great balls of sweat…

So, lunch was over and I was driving back to work when I saw this insane sight. I preface this by saying it’s been hellishly hot in Cairns. For one mad moment I was happy to be at work because of the air con. I did, of course, slap myself around the head severely for equating ‘happy’ and ‘work’ in the same sentence unless the sentence is ‘Amarinda was so happy to leave work she ran giggling out of the building with glee.’ Actually, I don’t run unless I have no option. I’m more of a wanderer…I could wander and giggle…anyway, it’s been frying-an-egg-on-the-sidewalk hot, which when I was about 13 I watched a bunch of other kids, in the Army camp we were living in, crack open a carton of eggs on the sidewalk. They didn’t fry. They sort of congealed and stayed in a blobby mess for a week or so and we would walk past on the way to get the bus to school and say ‘Nope, eggs don’t fry on cement.’ Another illusion shattered. Anyway…what was I talking about…oh yes, so Patrick, my car, and I were driving back to work along Scott Street when I saw this woman dressed as a trashy arsed Santa Claus in a tight, red satin mini-dress number that just covered her arse and exposed a lot of boob. Oh, and there was fur. In Cairns. She was wearing fur. In summer. Fur. Hot. Interestingly enough she was neither drunk nor a working girl – they have way more sense when picking a corner to work. This sweaty, red satin lady was selling something to do with beauty and spa treatments. She looked half dead with the heat and not as jolly as I suspect she was supposed to look. And as for selling beauty? I just wanted an ice-cream after I saw her. Do people ever think when it comes to advertising when they put a nubile, half naked woman out on the street selling beauty at Christmas? The answer is you put a half naked man out there and I would have stopped just to watch him sweat. Ho, ho, ho…