Confessions of an Accidental Flasher

Boys and girls,

It has been a momentous time in the House of Belle since last I wrote to you. For one thing, there has been the discovery of a magical new shampoo, which helps enormously with the ridiculous Sydney humidity, transforming me from this:



* Please note: picture above may not be accurate representation of Belle


to this:

There has also been the excitement of discovering an almost too good to be true product which, if sprayed generally on any surface, kills the insects which come into contact with it (following on from the recent cockroach incidents I've endured, I have been genuinely considering spraying this over my person as a whole, but have - for now - decided that this may not be a healthy way forward. Watch this space)...

But, more than any of that, has been the all new experience of house hunting. Since coming to this sunny and humid land, I've been staying with (until now unknown) Australian family, and much as they have been very kind and generous hosts - the happy prospect of independence is beckoning me, with it's well manicured finger of independence...

In the month of my absence from this blog (I am sorry!), which I realise has been a dark and empty time for each of you, bereft of my presence, I have spent days and evenings trawling the internet, attempting to find a flat and a housemate that would meet my exacting standards. 

My criteria, were as follows:

• Must love cake, enough to enjoy mine, but not so much that they would steal baked goods from me (I am Princess Cakeface after all, and couldn't live in a home where my cake was under threat)
• Must not have a pet bird (remember my fear of birds?)
• Must be a nice human being in general

Now, initially I thought this would not be such a big ask. I mean, really - how complicated could it be? 

Apparently, however, other than having a pulse (my base criteria) everything else was going to be a bit of a struggle. I saw flats which looked like something out of Guantanamo (I imagine), met people who absolutely resembled the strangers my mother used to warn me about as a child, and saw interior decor that would not look out of place in the 80s. Oh dear. Avocado green bathroom suites are enough to bring me out in a cold sweat. Yikes.

Days and weeks of this continued, until - suddenly - one day I found somewhere. The Place. The Flatmate. The One. (At this point, I am oddly tempted to go into a Lord of the Rings / One Ring to Bind Them All... soliloquy, but I won't...). But seriously. The perfect flat, with the perfect flatmate. Honestly, I nearly fell over with shock. In fact, several days later (now) I still feel like falling over. Finding a property in Sydney is kind of like winning the lottery, only then instead of getting any money, you have to watch as all of yours disappears. 

So - my friends! Independence, with her shellac-ed nails beckons me forward. I shall move from the HoSF (House of Stir Fry... the "rellies" I live with eat A LOT of stir fry. Indeed, I may be turning into a stir fry, such are the enormous quanitites of they stuff I've consumed since staying there) on the 10th March. Independence (and the prospect of a more varied diet) is mine!

But alas - I've neglected the true story here. The story behind the story. The true confession.

You see, the evening I found out about my new residence-to-be, I went for a celebration dinner and drinks with a very lovely girlfriend. However - our special skill (were it to be requested) is the ability to get each other as hyper as 3 year olds with a barrelfull of sugar. As our meal wore on, and our mutual excitement elevated (she is also moving from living with her family, so it was a joint celebration) I suddenly realised - as you do - that I was wearing a rather pretty new brassiere (as I will primly call it) and camisole, which was at that point hidden from view... I would like to emphasise that normally I do hide my lingerie from public consumption / viewing. This, however, was different. One glass of wine plus chocolate cake plus the company of Sylv, had rather altered my decision making process. So, with no preamble at all, whilst in full view of the entire restaurant, I giggled loudly, and pulled my top forwards so that not just Sylvie, but the dining public as a whole had an unencumbered view of my decolletage and lingerie (which had been the original point of my flashing). The waiter, who was on the point of pouring me a second glass of wine (not that I really needed it... And yes - all of this had happened on just the one glass) stood stock still, frozen (with admiration, obviously). Cool and together - for all of 5 seconds - I turned to him, smiled and without missing a beat said "And that's your tip for the night". With that, I pulled my top back into place, and with that - my evening continued as normally as it possibly could, after an incident like that.

Gentle reader - I have not yet been arrested for public indecency. Although I can confess that making a concerted effort to keep my cleavage under wraps is harder than it should be. I will keep you abreast (oo-er) of my flashing "issues".

Until next time...

Love,

Belle x