Mrs Live, Laugh, Love

Magic happens when you least expect it. For Tammy that was during one of her many lapses of parental supervision in K-Mart last Tuesday. While staring down some Asians she suspected was heading towards the baby formula section, one of her little grublets knocked over some shit in a nearby aisle.

She speed-waddled towards Traylee, bingo winged raised with flat palm ready to slap her six ways to Sunday. Suddenly, time almost paused as Tammy realised what young Traylee had knocked over, a humble, Live, Laugh, Love wall canvass. She lowered her flabby arm of authority.

Live, Laugh, Love, oh I love that, so true”, she thought as she wedged the canvass between her plentiful gunt and Slazenger trackies. From now on Tammy was going to find the joy in life, rather than disturbing the peace and belting the cordial off her kid’s mouths each public outing.

She returns home to find her hubby marinading in his usual pool of Woodstock infused sweat that builds heavily whenever he watches the V8 supercars. “Darl, we’re going to the Monster Trucks on the weekend at the Motorplex”. God, he loves it when she talks dirty to him.

They settle down to watch Married at First Sight after his boasts of being a sexual V8 end in 2 strokes of inadequacy. Not to worry, she’s more focused on how she’s going to paint her daughter’s room divorcee-pink and stencil, “LIVE, LAUGH, LOVE” onto the wall. Share her new life philosophy.

While positively intoxicated by a day of living, laughing and loving she checks the Motorplex website for any details about the upcoming Monster Truck event. She notices a lot of Johnny-come-latelies who failed to secure tickets to the sold out event. She thinks to herself, what would Marilyn Monroe do?

So she finds the oldest, most naïve looking punter begging for tickets, fires up one of 5 FB burner accounts she keeps handy and begins the tango of the scamming cretin. In fairness, it’s not a particularly intricate scam – getting the lady to bank transfer and then just not sending her the tickets but hey, if it works it works.

The big day rolls around, and Tammy wrangles her children, including 2 infants into the Commy. Sure, taking your infants to an obnoxiously loud monster truck show may not seem reasonable, but high on live, laugh, love it is.

They arrive slightly late after her hubby followed a car for 18km because he felt disrespected by a merge. In his mind he has performed a public service – the prick will most certainly look carefully next time – well when he’s able to open his eyes again he will.

Disaster strikes at the gates. Tammy is told that the bottle of Smirnoff in her bag is not permitted inside the Motorplex. Suddenly, all the positive vibes bullshit vanishes quicker than a Rockingham brickie after a paternity test. She latches onto the gate attendant’s face like a UDL-crab, and it takes 2 guards to pull her off. This is Adventure World all over again.

The old Tammy is well and truly back, and she spends the remainder of her night on the Motorplex’s Facebook page raining down the wrath of a bogan scorned. She isn’t living, laughing or loving very much, but Perhaps if society can’t handle her at her usual, then they damn sure don’t deserve her at her most deluded.

Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?


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