The Unromantic Death of a Frog

 To Hear Sir Read This Post Please Click The Greeting

My City Slicking Darling

I have mentioned before and we have discussed at length your encounters with our native fauna. You have fed wallabies, frightened innocent little blue tongue lizards, and been petrified of spiders. Wait a minute. Did I just say petrified? Because the next animal of which I speak was exactly that.

We stayed at a little Bed & Breakfast in the Hunter Valley called “Hilltop Lodge.” I was recently nearby and saw signs entreating me to stay, so I can only assume it still operates. It was a nice home with a nice view. We checked in late in the afternoon, and when we had our room to ourselves you retired to the en suite. Upon entering our bathroom you shrieked and came running out. My immediate fear was that a snake had come up through the plumbing, something that occasionally happens here.

You were virtually speechless. I’m not sure I had seen you like this before. Eventually you alerted me to the beast within, and I steeled myself for the encounter to come. I entered with a little fear and trepidation to find a dead, dehydrated, petrified, it-ain’t-ever-going-to-breathe-again frog. I was about to deal with it, when you pulled me away. Your face was filled with worry and concern. I summoned the owners and they apologetically removed the offending carcass.

As a fitting coda you were attacked yet again. The sun had been down for many hours, and we were heading out to dine. We made for the car, but before we could embark a very much alive frog leapt out in front of you. He had back up. His mate was watching nearby. You shrieked and clung to me for protection. I laughed as sympathetically as I could manage. They were only seeking the sanctuary of the nearby pond my love. I don’t remember where we dined, but I remember your angst at having to cross the threshold that was the frogosphere before we could sleep. Suffice it to say we made it across safely and lived to tell another tale.

I will save you my Darling

Amphibiously Yours

From Sir With Love

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To Hear Darling Read This Post Please Click The Greeting

    My Dearest Sir

I went in to take a shower, and all I saw was some dark thing in the bathroom with me. I didn’t stick around to see what it was. Your smirk is etched in my memory. I added heaps of amusement for you during our adventures. I was happy to oblige. I do feel awful how terrible the owners felt though.

If I hadn’t been with you nearly every waking hour, I would have suspected you of planting that dead frog just for the chance to be my hero again. You had already reached hero status with me, love.

I had forgotten about the live froggy assault outside. I’m beginning to wonder if there was some sort of cold-blooded, vertebrate conspiracy going on, and they were out for justice for their fallen comrade. The frog certainly died in the most unromantic way, and those neon-green buggers knew it. They blamed me. They knew I had dined on frog legs in the past – numerous times. They were figuring out a way to creep into our room at night, to pounce on my face, and stuff their webbed hands up my nose.

I knew it would be dark when we returned to the Bed & Breakfast, and the frog brigade would be lying in wait for me. You would have just laughed yourself to death, and where would that have left me? With a lifeless Australian and a lane full of dead amphibians after I beat them all senseless protecting myself because my “hero” died in the throes of a laughing spree. That just wouldn’t have been ideal.

I laughed when I saw the pictures of the Bed & Breakfast and the room we stayed in. I had forgotten how the towels on the foot of the bed looked like giant nipple pasties. The room has changed very little from the link you supplied; I guess we stayed in the Deluxe Room.

The owners were sweet, and they fixed us an awesome breakfast the next morning, so deceased animal carcasses and burlesque bed lingerie just added an element of excitement to the otherwise quaint atmosphere.

And if memory serves, you asked me to assume the frog position a time or two for a game of leap frog. Yeah that’s right – leap frog. Ribbit.

Croakingly yours,

Darling

©2014 Darling and Sir

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The Last Day

 To My Dearest Darling  Click The Greeting To Hear Sir Read His Letter

It was March 1999. It was your last night in Australia. It was the last night I looked lovingly into your eyes. It was both awful and intense. I was despondent.

We had returned to Sydney after our dalliances in the Blue Mountains, at Jenolan Caves and in the Hunter Valley. We had one last day together, one last night. We thought we would see one another again and yet still it hurt. The pain, it was like no other. It was a pain that has no name. You were soon to leave these shores. I was desolate.

You reminded me recently how we stood in my laundry as we washed and dried your clothes. I had forgotten, but the memories came flooding back. I would have tried to keep busy, tried to deny that awful reality. I would have also wanted your life to be easy; so we washed, we dried, we folded, and we packed. We readied ourselves to send you on your way. I was disconsolate.

I had booked us tickets to the theatre. We went and saw quite a famous Australian performer at the beautiful State Theatre in Sydney. Barry Humphries and his characters Dame Edna Everage, Sir Les Patterson and Sandy Stone featured in a quite wonderful show called “Remember You’re Out.” You sat beside me struggling with the accent. I wanted the distraction. The show? It was hysterical. My laughter? It was shrill. I was dejected.

I don’t remember where we ate that night. I remember the ride home in the taxi. I remember driving past the incomplete Sydney Olympic Stadium. I just held your hand with a quiet intensity. I was wretched.

We went to bed. We made love. It was fervid and frantic. We could sense the inevitable. Tomorrow’s dawn, it was the Sword of Damocles above our heads. I just lay there and held you. We barely spoke a word. I was bereft.

The sun’s early light would broker no argument. The day was here. It was ours to face. I hated it. We had to return our hire car. I loaded your luggage. We would off load it again as we caught a cab to Kingsford Smith upon returning the vehicle. I remember the taxi driver. He was everything you would want, happy, cheerful, chatty and ready to please. He saw the look on my face in his rear view mirror. He went silent. I was mournful.

We arrived at the airport. I don’t remember checking in, I don’t remember what we did. I just remember one thing, holding you in my arms for one last time. My left hand was tightly round your waist. My right, it cradled your neck and head. I drank in your aroma one last time, our lips locked one last time, and we held each other’s hands one last time. Then it was time to go. We separated. You went forward. Then with tears in your eyes and one last long look back, you were gone. I was inconsolable.

At that point I just lost it. Until then I had held it together (well almost). There was nothing for it now though, the tears where streaming down my overwrought cheeks. What was I to do? You were gone. I grabbed a bottle of water and sat at some dodgy outside table and awaited your plane’s departure. I saw the wheels leave the tarmac, watched them slide under the fuselage and with the four angry engines of the Qantas 747 screaming, awash with ugly power, the plane ascended, banked and you were gone. I was numb.

The centre of my world had left me. In pain, I set off home. I didn’t jump a bus or hail a cab. I walked, well at least I started to. It was about 30 kilometres from the airport to my home. I think I walked about a third of the way before my shoe leather began to bite, and I abandoned my ridiculous undertaking. When I returned to my home, well it had never felt so empty. I began to tidy things up and found your pyjamas, a story I have already relayed.

My Darling I have never experienced such love, such loss and such anguish all wrapped together like a pain ridden bundle of hurt. I knew then at least that we would be together again. That was how I consoled myself. I most assuredly messed that up as you well know.

Darling I must say it again. Thank you for searching for me, finding me and reaching out to me. You are my everything.

You Will Always Be My Darling

From Sir With Love

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 Oh My Sir,  Click The Greeting To Hear Darling Read Her Letter

That day is hard to talk about. It hurts reading your words and seeing it through your eyes. I can still feel the pain even now from that day; it’s sharp and real. How crazy is that?

Our last night together was so beautiful as well as excruciating. The theater was stunning, and you were so handsome. While I enjoyed Barry Humphries, I was more aware of the good-looking man next to me. Many of Barry’s jokes went over my head and I did struggle with understanding him, but to be fair I was very distracted as well. The time bomb was ticking, and I was really conscious of it.

I remember making love with you after we returned to your house; I cried nearly the whole time. I wasn’t sobbing, but the tears silently rolled down my face. You tenderly kissed them off my cheeks and held me. We weren’t rushed that night. Our love making was unhurried, deliberate, and poignant. You gave me your body and your heart and soul, and I gave you mine in return. I cherished every bit of you.

I remember I had a huge lump in my throat that made it hard to breathe. I was scared to sleep because the morning was coming; it was inevitable. I had a hard time getting up the next morning because of the sorrow that hung in the air. I had to go home. I was leaving you.

I recall crying in the cab as you firmly held onto my hand. I don’t remember the cab driver though. I was too dejected to notice I suppose. You notice everything. I love that about you.

I remember our last hug. I can feel your strong arms around me even now. You held me so tightly. I bawled. My legs felt like lead as I forced myself to walk away and pass through the security gates. I remember thinking that I shouldn’t look back, but I had to. I needed to see you. My last vision of you was blurry, because my tears got in the way.

When I felt the plane lift off from the runway, the hole in my heart got bigger. I left a giant piece of it with you. You still have that piece; it was yours to keep. The flight attendant kept asking me if there was anything she could do for me as my swollen, tear-streaked face was obvious. I could only shake my head no. I remember I was still crying when we flew over Hawaii. I would cry myself to sleep, wake up, and then I would start to cry again. I was one dehydrated, hot mess.

I called you from Los Angeles. You were relieved I had made it back to the United States safely. We talked about me going ahead with the plans we had made while we were together. You told me about finding my purple pajamas in your spare bed. I told you to keep them safe for me until I returned.

If I had only known…..

Sadly yours,

Darling

©2014 Darling and Sir

Do The Shake

Dear Socially Conscious Sir,

I don’t know where we were, but we were travelling through the Hunter Valley. We had many adventures. We stopped at some dive I think to get fuel, and they had a small dining area inside. I remember you showing me these meat pies and told me to try one. I couldn’t decide between two, so you bought both and we shared.

We were sitting at a table in contented silence sharing our grub when in walked a rather large family. I don’t mean they had a lot of children. I mean factually – they were extremely rotund. I recall two teenage children. They ordered a massive amount of food and dug in. They heartily enjoyed their meals. The boy had a milkshake. He ate that milkshake with relish. I have never – before or since – seen someone enjoy a milkshake as much as that burly boy.

The boy had his head tipped back, the milkshake glass up to his mouth trying to get every last luscious drop. He literally licked the rim and insides of the glass with his pink tongue as he closed his eyes. His hand was tapping the bottom of the glass to hurry the trickle. He was in some state of sugar bliss.

His sister told him it was time to leave. The boy had trouble putting down the glass. The parents had already walked out, expecting their children to follow. The sister was insisting that her brother put down the glass and leave with her. He pushed his chair back, stood up, started to follow his sister but came back twice to tip that milkshake container to his lips. He appeared crestfallen that he had to leave when there might be a drop or two of his sweet treat left in the glass.

We watched the boy in complete awe during his love affair with that milkshake. I glanced at your face; derision and scorn were etched in your features. You were aghast at his behavior. I started giggling at the look on your face. You stated, “I thought he was going to cry leaving that glass.” I laughed even harder.

I can’t even recall if we finished our food. You mentioned that you think your appetite had vanished due to the lick-love-fest we had just witnessed. We did not order a milkshake. I think we should have in honor of true milkshake love.

I can’t even talk about it with you now without falling into fits of laughter. I can still see the boy, his look of longing, and your face full of disgust. Good times love, good times.

Lickably yours,

Darling

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My Chocolate Malted Darling

We were in the town of Cessnock when we encountered this sideshow (now may not be the time to mention that you and the mayor of that town developing quite an affinity so I will leave that for another letter). It was a dodgy eatery where we had stopped. I have no idea why. It’s not like I would have taken you to many second rate establishments. No doubt it filled a need. The meat pies of which you speak are a staple part of the Australian diet. Sad I know, but most of our signature food comes in snack form with pies being the preeminent example.

That family was big, really big. I think you are being too kind in describing them as just rotund. They were enormous. They were so large if they remained stationary they would be issued a postcode (that’s a zip code in your American parlance). They moved like one globulous mass. If ever the expression “built for comfort not for speed” were to be employed, it would be for the benefit of these guys.

I remember the boy a little differently than you though. I don’t think he was yet a teenager. He was just so big he looked like a teenager. He was humungous.  In fact I would go so far to say that he was probably taller lying down than he was standing up.

Boy oh boy he sure loved that milkshake. He inhaled it. In fact the milkshake disappeared so quickly that the only way you could hope to consume it more quickly would be to surgically enhance your mouth and esophagus. That guy had suction. To steal a famous movie line….”he could suck start a leaf blower.” Man if he wasn’t so young you would have been well within your rights to describe his actions as “lightning fellatio.”

He was heartbroken to leave. He and that milkshake glass had developed quite a bond. I think he had visions that it may become a basket of plenty, where if he returned enough times it may magically refill. Sadly that was not to be the case, but it was not for want of trying.

It was hysterical I know. We laughed and laughed about it. On more than one occasion we would look at one another, smile, and then burst into fits of giggles. Without saying a word we both knew it was the “Milkshake Kid” that had tipped us over the edge. They were good times my love, very good times. Let’s do them again.

Inhalingly Yours

From Sir With Love

©2014 Darling and Sir

Driving

My Dearest Darling

When you came to these fair shores there was one thing I couldn’t do for you. Strange as it may seem but I had never learnt to drive a car. Technically that is not 100% accurate, but for the purposes of the story I no longer had a license (and no I had not lost it through any poor behaviour on my part, including drink driving).  My lack of a license brought with it a number of issues: I didn’t own a car, you were used to driving on the opposite side of the road, and we struggled to find a car hire company that would accept my credit card with your license.

I however was insistent that you see the sites so we found a little company, in Westmead, I think, that would let us hire a vehicle. Well there were a number of things that I remember.

Firstly there was your clear impatience and trouble with stop signs. While driving from Jenolan Caves to the Hunter Valley, we were on some back street in Sydney, trying to avoid the traffic, and approached a stop sign. You asked me if it was ok to go if there was no traffic. I replied “no” and explained that you still had to stop. Clearly deciding I was an unlicensed ignoramus you ignored my advice and made the left turn anyway, much to my amused amazement.

Not long after you expressed your incomprehension at what we call a “silent cop.”  Now this is a bright yellow plinth that had about a 3 inch or 90 mm profile that is used as a guide by motorists so as to not cut corners. Having never encountered one before, you were clearly baffled and quick to ridicule. They are quite an old fashioned traffic management device in this day and age. However on hearing you recall this story I laughed out loud when I encountered one in the back streets of Newcastle today.

The most sphincter tightening moment for me was however when we were leaving Katoomba. Then, on the Great Western Highway, you decided that the right hand side would be far more appealing than the more traditional left hand side. I decided that I may need a change of underwear.

In fact you did a stellar job of driving me around my fair city and its surroundings. I remember it with great warmth. But my fondest memory of driving with you concerns none of those things. It was placing my right hand on your leg as you drove. I could feel the electricity. I feel it to this day. I would give much money and many personal body parts to be able to look up into your eyes, smile and place my hand gently, but firmly on your left leg again, and then just leave it there for the duration.

 

You Will Always Be My Darling

From Sir With Love

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Dear Sir,

I fear I may not be able to reply to this letter appropriately as I am gigging so intensely after reading it. Oh, the memories are many.

I was perplexed that you didn’t drive at the time, but the public mode of transportation system of Sydney cleared up that confusion pretty quickly. My recent trip to Tokyo, Japan reiterated the brilliance of having such a system.  I do remember wondering at the wisdom in throwing a “goddamn Yank” behind the wheel of an Australian car, but your faith in me was unwavering.

A gentleman would not have pointed out my faux pas while driving backwards in your country, but it was good to hear you laugh. You did, however, leave out a few minor details that will clear up any obvious confusion.

I did stop at stop signs. I didn’t blow through them, Sir, and I scoff at the notion. The incident in question was a stop light. In my country, one can turn right on a red light (after coming to a full stop) if there is no traffic coming. I asked if that were true in turning left (remember backwards design here). You stated “no” that I had to wait for a green light.  There was absolutely NO traffic in the vicinity, and I was certain you were wrong. No harm no foul, so I proceeded to turn. I was an ignorant fool, and I apologize. I can still hear your laughter ringing through the car after you screeched like a girl. I have no doubt that I stuck my tongue out at you then (and now).

Those ‘silent cop’ thing-a-ma-jigs still baffle me. They appeal to my rational mind like some kind of driving video game. The more I hit, the more points I can rack up. Of course I never hit one, but I felt their magnetic pull. The temptation was fierce, but I managed to be victorious over their evil power after you told me that if I hit one, we’d blow out a tire. Fabulous!

Now that highway event makes me cringe to this day. To your credit you remained composed as my habitual driving took over and I headed to the right side of the road.  I was oblivious to the fact that it was a six lane highway. You just calmly reached over and guided me back to the WRONG side of the road and only released your breath once we were well on our way. I daresay I noticed finger grip marks on your side of the car, and I wondered where they came from. And might I add that I care about all your body parts including your sphincter, my love. Being in love addled my brain enough at the time without having to flip my way of thinking to operate a motorized vehicle in a foreign country; we were crazy. I’m certain we wouldn’t change a thing. Talking about it now brings tears of mirth, but only because we are safely ensconced in our own homes instead of looking death in the face by having me drive on the wrong side of the car on the wrong side of the road.

Your favorite memory of driving is also my favorite memory. Your hand represented so much to me – strength, support, warmth, and love. If your hand were to find its way to my leg again Sir, we wouldn’t be driving – electric indeed.

Longingly,

Darling

©2013 Darling and Sir