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Mrs Garden City

After dropping off her silver spoonlings to her mother’s for the day, Amanda heads towards the Claremont Quarter of the South: Garden City. She finds a spot and expertly parks in two bays. Maybe it’s her lack of driving competency, or perhaps she just doesn’t give a shit, but she sure as fuck isn’t having another bite of the parking cherry – it’s not like there aren’t other disabled bays around.

She switches her facial expression to “unapproachable bitch” mode and struts towards a group of Applecross High students who are pretending to enjoy cigarettes. They puff their chests out, try to conceal their acne and do their best to put into motion their own Ms Robinson moment.

Not a fucking chance, her own husband needs to beg for a wristy on his birthday, what chance do these juvenile pustules have? They get a whiff of her Dior which will be more than enough to penetrate the vault of their impressionable wank banks for this evening.

Amanda proceeds past KFC and is stared down by a couple of security guards who have clearly sworn an oath to “protect and leer”. They adjust their security guard belts in a desperate bid to reclaim some dignity after being MILF-snubbed. Amanda leaves a trail of turned heads all the way to the David Jones Cafe.

She meets her girlfriends, Taylor and Alice for Chai Lattes and Scones with organic cream. “OMG shut up, woman, you are looking so cute!” The “greeting” makes Amanda blush, even though she knows damn well she is workin’ it.

Amanda finishes her scone and begins her extensive browse of every store that will judge you for wearing a tracksuit. By chance, she runs into one of the Aquinas mums whose son is on a sports scholarship (how frightfully middle class). “Picked up these really nice towels in K-Mart, great sale, you should check it out, Manda!”

Amanda almost vomits a bit of botox up, and she struggles to remain pleasant. “Oh… how nice for you darling”. The “can’t really afford PSA” mother walks away and Amanda is mesmerised by the women’s New Balance sneakers: “they must not sell heels in Hamilton Hill”, she thinks while she tries to erase the nightmare of having discounted towels in her Applecross mansion.

It might be the mini Grey Goose bottle she smashed in Sportsgirl, or it might be the new throw rugs she bought, but Amanda is positively buzzing. She drives towards the Raffles to recharge her feelings of self-importance over a few cocktails while being hit on by red-nosed business drunks who might be in for a chance if only their net worths were as big as their ridiculous guts.

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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