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I SHOP, THEREFORE I AM!
Defrosting fridges is one of my nightmares. Upon the farm our fridge was an icy monster full of bloody mutton from the sheep killed that week. Every time the door opened, that butcher-shop waft filled me with horror. Before that we had kerosene fridges, with dodgy pilot lights as delicate and vital as the mantles over our Tilly lanterns. It was a bad day when Mum was laid out on the kitchen floor, her head under the fridge swearing at the works. Likewise, a torn Tilly mantle meant helpless frustration, candle-light, an early night and no chapter of The Silver Brumby.
In a world that only respects purchasing power,I am a maggot, with no property at all and, my ANZ free advice loan expert says, no one will ever lend me a bean either (too old, job insecurity; no assets).
Besides, new shopping pleasures are available for even the likes of me: I cannot tell you how much I like these new Tetley squeezable teabags with the cotton thread inserted in the bag like some magical macrame, or the new, thick, Chux wipers or, best of all, Vegemite in a tube, like black toothpaste. One of our biggest recent thrills,(in lieue of not being able to afford to go to the theatre), was buying a pack of gardenia-scented Ioo paper.
"At exactly which point are you supposed to enjoy the scent, Ma, and exactly why?" asked the kid. Now that he never has to defrost the fridge again, he is turning his mind to the really big issues.
Having failed lately to enjoyshopping for fashion and jewellery, the sky opened
one day and the Great God of White Goods appeared before me in gender-free dazzling splendor and said: "Your fridge is dead, you must buy another right away!"
Which led to a string of telephone calls securing the best price for the only model on the market fitting the cavity in my rented home.
Along comes this big, strong, smiling archangel in his truck, wheels out the old Job (festering, dripping, shelves gaffer-taped, door warped) and wheels in the new. Ooh Ia la! White heaven. After he left, the kid and I sat staring into it for five full minutes, savoring that pristine space, the cleanliness. And it's frost free!
All the fridges of my independent years have been leaky, second-hand or borrowed jobs with ferocious frost build-up. But the Great God of White Goods also sent me a son who just loved playing with ice and became the family defroster from the age of about three. He stood there year after year with a bucket, a kitchen knife and warm water, making-ice magic until it was all gone. All I had to do was wash the floor afterwards.
And now; as I am about to turn 50,1 have this gorgeous, clean, brand new creature singing a one-note instead of the clattering chorus I am accustomed to. It's been the finest shopping fun I've had in years.
I'm resigned because I have to be. I work as hard as I can for a wage that puts my son in the top bracket of Austudy: I'm not whingeing because it was my decision to spend most of my working hours in unpaid labor but there were times when I shook with fear: how would I ever educate him, how could I lower our expenses while a!ready living in two rooms.
Once, I remember actually crying to him (there being no one else interested): "Oh God, what will become of us?" He hugged me and said: "Don't worry Mum, we'll go to the Home for the Poor and Ugly." It was something out of a game he was playing but it made me laugh so freely that I've never returned to that fear.
And now,he has only three months more school left,I'm definitely more than half dead, and I've got this beautiful fridge to take with me to the Home for the Poor and Ugly. Whats more, I've lost the need to measure myself by my purchasing power... I don't need labels, darling.
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