For years Deenise suckled from the teat of her hubby’s FIFO wage and raised the kind of kids that you’d go full moustached Mitchell Johnson on during a game of backyard cricket.
With any luck, you’d steam that actual cricket ball so fast you’d knock that stupid haircut off her head. You know the one.
Dressed like a tsunami flood of knock-off Bali fashion, Deenise joins the real housewives of Baldivis for an impromptu daycare/coffee session. They drink the coffee, everyone else deals with their womb-demons.
Her fake Pandora trinkets rattle as she clicks for service. A millennial walks over and experiences a mere category 1 hurricane cunt-rina, the passive-aggressive stage:
“Dahhhling, we’re ready to order, we would’ve liked some menus on arrival, but that’s ok dahhhling you looked busy folding napkins”.
Well actually, she was picking up the napkins your Attention Deficit Delinquents threw all over the ground in an act of unsupervised mayhem.
The group has ordered 2 flat whites, 2 skinny caps and 6 babycinos (one with turmeric because young e’Moleee is a trendy 4-year-old. Meaning, despite taking up half of the Cafe’s floor space, they have accounted for approximately fuck all of their lunch service takings.
Turns out e’Moleee hates turmeric and shouldn’t be allowed to order a coffee for herself because she is a fucking child. Introducing category 2 of the hurricane: the aggressive send back.
This time, she storms to the counter with her thighs thundering in her ¾ capri pants, as she uses the “come closer” finger on the waitress like she was a teenage boy on Pinky’s Beach about to add a new scent to his repertoire.
“Dahhling, these coffees are not up to scratch, my little angel was very unimpressed with her babycheeno, I’ve been to Pa-reeeee Fraaaaance, and you wouldn’t get this, you just wouldn’t”.
Well, the quality sure didn’t stop you all drinking most of them, and Jesus, your pronunciation of the snotty European nation just put every neighbourhood cat into heat.
After a new round of coffees and a complimentary bowl of wedges, the bill lands on their table. They are charged for the ones they drank. Woah nelly, she skips category 3,4 and hits a straight 5: “Can I speak with the manager”.
Needless to say, category 5 is hectic:
“$15.60 for sub par coffee? I’td be cheaper to fly back to Pa-reeeeeeeee FRAAAANCCEEEE, how dare you serve my angel such a terrible babycheeeeenooooo, you’re done, you’re through in this town, my hubby earns enough to buy and sell this place free (3) times over.”
Well, he did, but then he got fired for getting his dick out at the Chrissy party didn’t he Deenise?
She then proceeds to log onto Facebook and gives them fewer stars than an episode of “I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here!”
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?