Living in a small country town definitely leaves you open to gossip and slander. I spent the first fifteen years of my life living in a town with a population of 2500. Then we moved to a town with a population of 5000. (I can't say I noticed much difference). After living for a few years in Sydney I now find myself living in a town with a population of 15000. A metropolis really compared to what I was used to. Its one of those places though where you have to live for at least twenty years before you are considered a local. I'm almost there.
And I always thought I'd flown under the radar, but it appears not. Last night I heard a very interesting story about myself. My daughter Kimba has a friend who works at a local furniture store and she heard it from a customer. Its a bit strange to think I'm on someones mind while they buy household items.
Now we have no family here – never have. However, apparently my grandparents were very very wealthy this woman said, but when I started getting tattoos and married my no good westie husband, they cut me out of the will. I have lost my inheritence. My grandparents would not tolerate my rebellious ways.
Not only that but apparently my husband and myself were wild party animals, drug addicts even.
A sad tale.
When Kimba told me I was like – what? I did what?? I couldn't stop laughing.
I always wonder where the first lie comes from. Who came up with it. Who pulls something out of thin air and turns it into a novel. Do people really feel that their lives are so boring they have to make up something about me. Me, mind you, little harmless me.
It's a bit like chinese whispers. That used to be so funny at school. The first person would say Mr Jackson bought five apples on Monday and by the time it passed through thirty kids ears and lips Mrs Jones was having an affair with the milkman.
I hope my story ended up well. I hope I went to rehab and overcame my drug addiction. I hope I was able to reconcile with my grandparents before they died and was able to show them I had overcome my rebellious ways. Maybe my inheritence is in a trust fund waiting for me to turn fifty. Or something.
Time to dump this dive I say.