Waving at Kangaroos

In a small farming community, fifteen families lived.

Every so often we would get together for a hoe down.

The adults would talk about grain and sheep prices and who had the better yield.
We, the farmers kids, massed together. We drank and smoked and talked shit.


Grabbing what booze we could steal, we would head off somewhere quiet and away from prying eyes. We would drink and drink and drink. If you found yourself in deep conversation with a rose bush, you knew your alcohol limit had been breached. We didn't care, the object was to drink as much alcohol as we could. We were young and invincible, so we thought.


We played games, spin the bottle, strip drinking, blind dolly, kiss chasey, and scull.
Scull was the best or maybe worst now in hindsight. We would sit down with four cans of beer. The object was to be the first person to scull all four cans. If you won, you got to pick someone to take their clothes off.


Run to Paradise screamed out the stereo spurred me on, I was going to win this time. I had had enough of getting my gear off.
I sculled all four in record time. But the boys were playing me, pretending to drink. Matthew paid the price, he flopped around trying to poke us girls with his ego.


Bored, we ended up back at the eskys, a bottle of rum, some vodka for good measure and whatever the green stuff was. We drank.


Whatever happened at the party stayed at the party. Some dumb motto, we thought up. More over to keep our reputations in tact.


We got a little wild and funky. We were very experimental.
We would pour the booze into each others mouths and then with eyes closed someone would have to kiss it out. Disgusting, I know, but we were drunk and didn't care.
We would strategically place a shot glass on different parts of our bodies and by drawing straws, the winner would drink it off.


Silly as a cut snake and wild as wombats. We partied hard.
As the night turned into day, one by one our names were called and homeward bound we would go.
Hearing my name, I'd swagger to the car, climb on the backseat and hope I didn't vomit.


The next day, my head spinning and my mouth feeling like at cat's hair ball was stuck in it. I'd recall the mischief I had been up to. Like trying to act sober and hanging out the car window to wave goodnight to the kangaroos.




Cheers.






Read More: http://imaginifbusiness.blogspot.com/2010/06/atropa-bella-donna.html