No whims, no swims - just running around in my undies like a headless chook

CYC at Rushcutters Bay in Sydney

No swimming yesterday as I had to drive The Hiss to sailing at Rushcutters Bay where she tried out for the fancy schmancy 'Advanced squad'. I predict that all hell will break loose if she doesn't make the cut and we (Spanner, Precious Princess and I) will be sucked into her unforgiving vortex. 

On the bright side, at least we have another week of relative calm before she finds out. It's a worry.

The Hiss did me a favour by dragging me away from the ocean yesterday. I heard via the grapevine at squad this morning that the Shark Island swim at Cronulla was "horrible".

My guess is the surf was a wild beast keen to toss a few unsuspecting swimmers into its foaming gob. How's that for metaphor? Whatever. If bad writing like 50 Shades of Grey can go viral, why can't my blog? I need to get BDSM (no, it's not a clothing label) into it somewhere.

In the meantime, I'm having paranoid dreams where I'm running around in my undies (no bra), hiding from people while I try to find some clothes to wear so I can get to work on time. In my dreams I'm usually running late for work, often half naked (I'm a prude - I always have my undies on and my hands over my boobs as I careen from pillar to post). 

Another good/bad one is where I'm on a plane that lands in another country and I don't have my passport so I can't get off. Oh, and the best is where I have to get up and deliver a speech in front of a huge audience in a massive auditorium but have nothing prepared - usually the microphone doesn't work, people start to boo or shout abuse. And I'm in my undies*.

Not hot enough?

Make of it what you will. 

Have a week. 

PS: We secretly hope The Hiss will meet a mega-rich yachting type who will take her off our hands. Otherwise, it's a flat full of cats...

*There's always a beach somewhere in my dreams where the surf is massive, much like the wild beast analogy but in slow motion. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?