Speaking in Barbies
Friday, July 21st, 2006
My beloved Barbie had a nasty communications incident the other day and I think it provides a salutary lesson for us all.
Having had an interesting but not inspiring evening out, and with more than a couple of special lemonades under her stylish, up to the minute designer belt she had stumbled, perhaps a little unsteady in her sling backs, back to the glamorous South Yarra Pentflat. As the evening had failed to provide any substantial gentlemanly attention, Babs decided to make use of her wireless broadband. So with hot toddy après in hand she logged on to a salacious "dating" site see if she couldn't "order in" what the evenings venues had sadly failed to provide.
Now Babs may have been suffering from a mild case of champagne induced good sense deprivation so when she thought she was feeling a little too awake, she decided to add a (couple of) stilnox into the mix - and suddenly the evening took a turn for the bizarre with a little side trip to the valley of the Barbie's.
Now details are sketchy at this point but we have managed to reconstruct events from the available evidence.
For me, I became aware that there had been an "incident" when I got up early the following morning, as is my wont on Sundays*, to find a long rambling tirade waiting for me in an MSN Messenger window. Something about being incensed that someone had the audacity to BLOCK Barbie on some online dating service and that I must use my apparently boundless contacts in the cybersphere to TRACK down this odious individual so Babs could confront and heap her withering scorn upon them. Things didn't seem to have gone well.
From there the dire tribe on my computer screen descended into what appeared to be a language almost completely devoid of vowels. Evidence, I surmised, of Bab's first class education in the finest of Swiss finishing schools.
It wasn't until I found 28 sms'd examples of babsolalia on my cell phone that I started to worry. I figured it would be worth popping past the Pentflat on my way to the gym†.
On the way I called Babs (biological) sister to see if she had heard anything. Apparently she had been disturbed a number of times around 4am by someone calling and speaking in tongues. Since she had been occupied by some unnamed 22 year old sportsman with an unstoppable springy dick, she had just taken the phone off the hook and focused on the task at hand.
Upon arrival at the Pentflat I climbed the back stairs to the kitchen balcony and opening the door (I have a key for just this sort of emergenc) There I found a bleary eyes Babs fork lifting her head up from where it appeared to have finally slumped, with no small amount of force, onto the keyboard of her stylish slim line white ibook. The resulting imprint of TYUIOP on Bab's otherwise flawlessly smooth forehead was a little difficult to explain for the 3 days it took to fade. We discussed a hijab, but in the end decided that in the current climate it was probably ill advised.
I think the lesson to be learned here is two fold. Firstly, strong liquor and barbiturates are not the safest of bedfellows unless one is closely supervised, and secondly, that more communications options is not always a good thing.
*loser
† yes on a Sunday morning - dateless, loser
