Miss Mich loves to play.
Whilst she was erstwhile Eastern Suburbs good wife and mother there was no time for play. She was too too busy staying abreast of the expectations of a competitive and avaricious little microcosm. It may have existed within a 3km radius, but let me tell you, the pressure was worldwide. One needed to have not only holidays overseas, but preferably homes in major cities just in case one happened to wish to ski in Aspen, hunt with the hounds in Dublin or have afternoon cocktails by one’s own pool in Bel Air.
It is with relief that the far far north is the new microcosm. Don’t misunderstand me, I am all for travel and hanging out in beautiful homes in beautiful places. Just not all the time, and certainly not with the Sperm donor.
Miss Mich now has the luxury of deciding which deserted beach to lie on and watch the turtles play and feed in the shallows. She has the cottage with all of its humble woven shit (said with love, obvi), handcrafted by folk who really know how to live. Butterflies and Sunbirds who hover over the little flowers just outside MM’s bedroom window whilst the Libertine strokes her back. Given the choice of her former life and this, I know where I would rather be.
But it is play I wish to speak of today. The Libertine loves to play. Perfect.
Psychologists will tell you that we are made up of different selves within the whole. Not in the Sybill sense so much, more that the child within is always within. Miss Mich was under the impression that as soon as one could fly the nest that was the end of said childhood. It appears not. As a result of Miss Mich being her Mother’s mother from the get go, Miss Mich kind of fast tracked the whole concept and put that child of hers in a box on the top shelf of you know which cupboard.
Where she stayed.
Until now. The Libertine loves a game. Miss Mich loves a challenge. Not that she’s competitive, oh no…just that she likes things her own way. And if that means winning, well then….look out. As a result, the cottage and that lovely cloud of a bed, vibrates to sounds of hooting, scuffling and wrestling. All in good fun obvi…
One can never laugh too much. Ever. One can never wrestle too much. Well, until one comes perilously close to popping one’s kneecap. Miss Mich types as we speak with said knee elevated, just to encourage the swelling to disperse. Sex wound aside, title courtesy of the Songbird…”ooh she says, I love a good sex wound…” Miss Mich is thrilled to be able, after so so long, to welcome the child within to come over to the Cottage for a play date with The Libertine. And if she’s lucky, she may stay for a sleepover. Here here I say. That kid makes me laugh. She makes me sneak up and surprise, she makes me feint and then go in for the tickle, she makes me see the world with a sense of pure wonder. All the while holding The Libertine’s hand.
He lets her tuck her head under his arm. He lets her rest her cheek on his chest curls. He puts his arms around her and spreads his hand across her back so that she feels the monsters will never get her. Holds her head and her face in his hands so that she will never be scared again.
Pretty good huh, Dear hearts.
I’m now quite evangelistic about embracing ones inner child and the concept of play itself. Life is so bloody serious. It is so easy to get caught up in the minutia and dross of money, position, appearance and one up manship. Bring on a good race around the garden. Bring on a good belly laugh. Bring on friends who make you feel like the dag you really are. Miss Mellie, Miss Christine. These girls make me laugh. The Libertine makes me laugh.
I want you, Dear hearts, to laugh, to be silly. Miss Mich, on her trip up to the beautiful Thursday Island, became a part of Team Silly. Oh yes, that team will be playing golf at the annual Chamber Golf Day, don’t you worry about that. And there will be laughter. There will be silliness. Of that you can be assured.