don't fuck with uncle fingers...

Every now and then something happens that restores my faith in the way things are supposed to be.




In early 2000, I met a wonderful chick named Carolyn; drop-dead gorgeous, funny, intelligent, independent, a senior legal secretary in a top firm, she drank, smoked, did recreational drugs and performed gymnastically improbable acts in bed. We dated fiercely for six months, during which time Carolyn brought much-needed light into what was an exceedingly dark period of my life. I had seen fit to leave the money market and open a Japanese restaurant, a decision that in retrospect made less commercial sense than ‘Kitty’ opening a nuclear power plant. Given that I had zero experience in the hospitality industry and even less interest in actually being hospitable to anyone, it was inevitable that this diabolically stupid idea failed…which it did…in just over nine months…leaving me stone broke.
One afternoon during the last tortured weeks of my restaurant’s life, Carolyn came breezing into the place as she usually did, putting a smile on my face as she always did. Whatever else that was going wrong in my life, as long as I had the pleasure of this beautiful girl’s company, I felt like the luckiest man on earth.
‘Hi Fingers, I just wanted you to hear it from me first…I’m going up to Gove in the Northern Territory, to live on an Aboriginal reserve and work with disabled indigenous people.’
‘Why?’ I asked, assuming it was a wind-up.
‘I need to discover myself,’ she replied with a cliché so well worn that I knew it had to be a wind-up now.
‘I see…and when are you planning to go?’ I ventured, going along with the gag.
‘Tomorrow at 3pm.’
‘How long will you be gone?’
‘Three years, maybe longer.’
I was secretly beaming at Carolyn’s straight-faced delivery; this was a very good gag.
‘So, you’re leaving me to go and live in Cuntsville, in forty-degree heat, in a tin shack, with the flies and the crocodiles?’
‘I guess.’
‘I love you so much, baby. Thanks for the laugh.’
‘I love you too, baby. You’re welcome.’
The next day while I was at work, Carolyn flew off to Gove…

The next twelve months formed a part of my life for which I intend getting a refund some day…

Although I never saw Carolyn again, never spoke to Carolyn again, I learned through mutual friends that ‘The Self Discovery Choo Choo’ ran off the rails during that same twelve months and that she had developed a rather nasty ‘speed’ habit, which she funded by vending the comfort of her orifices to passing truckies, presumably while listening to ‘Yothu Yindi’ or ‘Goanna’ on her IPod (eh, Kate?).
Sweet !!!
Now, I never wished Carolyn any harm, however by the same token, I’m not too proud to admit I’d have been a little put out had she won ‘Powerball’ or gone on to meet some minor European Crown Prince, marry him and live in the family castle. Anyway, seven years went by, during which time I rose like a Phoenix from the ashes of my own stupidity, never giving Carolyn more than a passing thought…until now.
An old mate of mine rang last night, out of the blue…and after swapping small talk for several minutes, he said ‘Hey, I ran into your ex-chick last week.’
‘Which chick?’
‘Carolyn.’
‘Fuck, no way…where is she these days?’
‘She’s back in Sydney…even has her own web page, just like you. There’s an e-address hyper-linked, in case you want to contact her. Would you like the URL?’
‘Yeah sure…why not.’
And so he gave me Carolyn’s URL: my chick
Yes, that’s my darling Carolyn, aka Kimberley !!!
She’s looking pretty fabulous too, now aged twenty-seven, even though she was thirty-three when we were going out. What’s more to the point, as well as having a nice, steady job again, I noticed from her bio that she is finally getting to work with a lot of disabled people.
And let me tell you, if memory serves me correctly, they must be some of the happiest gimps in the whole world…