Yesterday at 6pm I had a piece of jam toast in my hand and I was in the bathroom and turned around to say something and the jam toast fell splat on the floor, face down. On the tiles it made the most fantastic sound – PLAP.
The shock of it. The tragedy.
I stood looking at it for a second. Then I lost it laughing.
It was hilariously funny, especially because I wanted the toast so bad. I had buttered it perfectly with sea-salt butter right to the edges and just the right amount of raspberry and had eaten it around to that sweet part in the middle and now, there it was, face-down, dead. And the fact that I had been loving it so much made it even funnier. And the more I looked at it sitting there so still amongst the towels and hairbrushes and toothpaste splatters, the funnier it became, until I was laughing so hard I had tears dripping down my face. And The Love who was peeing with his back to me hadn’t even realised what had happened and when I told him he didn’t think it was funny at all and that made it even funnier again. He tore off a piece of Sorbent for me to wipe it up. Kneeling down to the murderous gooey mess set me off again and I was doubled over on the tiles finding it difficult to breathe.
This has been a regular occurrence of late, at precisely 6pm. Attack of the Giggling Gerties, Gran would say. And she would frown, which, would set us off into wilder hysterics.
I don’t remember having such precise 6 o’clock Gerties for a while, but they’ve recently come back. The day before yesterday at 6pm I was driving back from the beach and sent a message to The Love saying:
Ten away. CU soon x
And he replied saying.
At IGA. Need me to pick up anything?
And I wrote:
Just a kissy.
But I was turning right when I pushed Send and when I looked down I saw that predictive text had meant I’d sent this message:
Just a kiddy.
What a sight for anyone on the road. I was literally crying from laughter. Any passing motorist would have thought I was a lunatic, sitting there alone in Rhonda, trying to regain my composure before being set off again into painful, crying laughter. I’m sorry, I know it’s not funny at all now, but at the time, the absurdity of the The Love picking me up a kiddy at the IGA was just too hilarious a picture – thoughts of evil kidnappers fused with The Love’s sweet face, bending down to select a nice plump one from the dairy aisle… Just a kiddy. It killed me.
Something about 6 o’clock. I remember it as kids. The six-o’clock Gerties. Did you have those? They just crept up. They drove mum mental. The four of us around the dinner table, high-chairs and hairstyles, bibs and dribble, something about that time when the eyes would begin to dart, the giggle would lodge inside the belly, just waiting for an excuse to come out and then to build and build until someone was sent from the table. They were fantastic, those Gerties – they hurt all over and made your eyes tired afterwards.