OH GOD this has poo in it.

Tonight Special K made Caramel Slice and she offered me some. For those of you who know my stand-up, I have a bit about a woman offering me Caramel Slice and then questioning my manhood when I reject it but this is not it. The background is that I have a dairy allergy, but I LOVE dairy. Especially cheese and especially especially Sweetened Condensed Milk. Eating it is like volunteering to take a sleeping tablet, something to clog your freckle and get kicked in the kidneys by a donkey.

So of course I ate the Caramel Slice. And it was delicious. BUT Special K hasn't cooked anything in the time I've lived here and she kept saying "Help yourself to as much as you like, because I don't even eat sweet things", so I asked her why she made it. She said she "just wanted to try it out". In my brain, an alarm bell went off and I thought "oh god, this has poo in it" but by this stage it was too late, I was already eating it and telling her how delicious it was. Then she said "well they say that food is the way to a man's heart". EEP!

I didn't panic enough to vomit, which is a good thing because then she said "So I hope it works on INSERT BOGAN NAME HERE", her husbogand who she is separated from, "he bloody loves the stuff". Husbogand, let's call him Warren, lives in Mandurah, which is further South and I'm sure even more deeply Boganated than Rockingham. Although I lack proof, I genuinely hope she is more complex than she seems. Like, imagine if she genuinely thinks that Caramel Slice is what's going to win back her estranged husband. That is both sad and extra sad but not, imo, entirely out of the question.

LATER I was doing my invoices in the lounge room while Special K was watching Revenge. The cat, Smurf, got up onto the couch and wanted to sit on her lap. 
"God, you're so sooky" is what she said to it. The cat didn't seem to understand but as it was removed from her lap it stood on a little coffee table and began washing itself.
"Can you not do that in here? You wash yourself TOO LOUDLY"
Judging by the look on it's face, the cat STILL cant understand English. I'm not even sure it's trying to learn. So she got up, picked up the cat and put it in the kitchen. Which is great because of all the places I want a cat de-lousing itself, near my food is probably the first one that springs to mind. The cat must just be baffled most of the time, like anyone who has English as a second language coming to somewhere like this where BogAus (Bogan Australian) English includes phrases such as "yeah nah yeah cunt, ay", "got any durries?" and "Jaidyn! Stop fingerblastin' your sister and tell the hairdresser how long you want your rat's tail". I've lived in Australia my whole life and still struggle some days.