My family are so parochial, they think that Melbourne is mostly just smokestacks and high-rises. I don’t think my parents have ever even BEEN outside their local area, and that’s just this little cluster of towns with loads of fields and the odd little tea shop. They’re nice tea shops, but if you want to live around here, your choices of profession are ‘tea shop owner’ and ‘farmer’. I’m not going to be a farmer. I made that pact when I was eight and ten years later I’m sticking to it.
With our dial-up internet (ugh, I know!) I managed to find a beautician course in Melbourne, and it really stood out to me. In fact, I’ve been looking at all sorts of courses in that genera; field…makeup, beauty surgery, hairdressing, all that. I just love glamming people up, which is bizarre because the parents think I want to be a stable girl. Got nothing against being a stable girl or being on a farm. I’m almost sort of proud of my parents for carrying on their whole lives, owning their own land and generally working so hard to make a living. That’s one thing they’ve really hammered into my brain: work hard, always. I can see the fruits of their labour (sometimes actual fruits, when the lemon and lime trees down the bottom of the creek paddock are in season) and I want to replicate that…but in my own field.
Thing is, I’m not even sure that they want me to take on the farm. Surely Mum and Dad can see that I’m not really the type, and it’s not like I have a big, strong farmer boyfriend to someday become my farmer husband and we’ll run the place together. I want to live in Melbourne, and that’s pretty much settled along with picking something like a diploma in beauty therapy. I’ll just have to see what they say.
The rabbit star is dancing above Venus, which means you’ll soon receive a visit from aliens. Greet them by taking off your left shoe and singing the first, fourth and sixteenth notes from ‘Hey Jude’ – Joanne