Ok. So I have to front up and confess. There’s a few things I like spotting when I’m out and about. This has very little to do with an infertility blog, and a lot to do with my warped mind / sense of humour. The overlap, i suppose, is that during all this bedrest i haven’t been able to enjoy these games, except via the tele. And hub-in-boots and i have done a bit of spotting of late, but its been via the tele and theresfore not as fun, and we’ve argued about the parameters. So settle in.
One thing I like to spot is the monkey baby. These babies, often in cafes, are usually overly hairy. They are ugly. And my favourite ones are where the monkey baby has monkey siblings, and you need to figure out whether the parents were trying for a better looking child, or simply should have realised it was never getting any better, and stopped. True, some monkey babies are just having a monkey baby phase, which they outgrow into cute kids. But some….Woah! I always wonder with these whether the parent knows they have a monkey baby. Hub-in-boots has suggested perhaps infertility is karma’s payback for this particular game. A psych might say its a defence mechanism. I think i just happen to find ugly kids funny.
My other fairly well renowned spotting is “fat man in sport”. I love people on the peripheries of a sport , who think that by wearing the team tracksuit, or doing an ‘on the side of sport’ job, they are somehow a sportsman, and fit. I believe this started with my mum’s cousins husband, Stan . Stan was an unattractive man. What Stan lacked in personality, he made up for in beetroot complexion. Stan had trouble walking, let alone run. His belts REALLY earned their salt. His tailored dress shorts and walk socks were a sight to behold. Stan was a hockey referee on weekends. I’m not sure how. Stan always talked about hockey , wore hockey gear, and always looked on the verge of a heart attack . He had the perfect build and personality to play tweedledum in a pantomime. (look! Behind you!). Stan was a legend in his own mind. Stan was my first “fat man in sport”.
Since then, the rules of spotting a “fat man in sport” have evolved. Some of our best have been the pit boss at the rodeo in cessnock, complete with clipboard, western shirt straining at the buttons. The champion to date is an AFL hanger on, working on the substitutes bench, who actually used his clip to secure his hotdog container to his clipboard. This way, he could eat and make notes at the same time. Fat men in sport have a certain air about them, a look at me I’m out here and being active air. A check out my official team uniform self importance, despite a blatant inability to participate. The body mass and clipboard is not as important as the fat man in sport ‘tude. The clothing is important. I guess you could say its like my own version of the People of Walmart.
Just try it, the next time you’re at a sporting event. They’re always there, secretly lurking, trying to be part of the team. Some sports are more renowned than others for their fat man in sport action.
My other spotting includes cankles (where a person’s calves and ankles become one), and the good Italian nonna. ( I love nonna spotting. Love a good nonna!). There was a christmas mass we used to go to in leichhardt solely for the nonna spotting. Clearly these games overlap, as no one does cankles like an italian nonna. The best nonnas are a) old b) wear black having fed their husbands into an early grave c) have cankles d) have bingo wings/ tuck shop lady arms /large floppy upper arms, also called fadoobadas e) have nonna vibe. You have to experience nonna vibe to understand.We got some excellent nonna action at the Anzac day picnic we went to last Wednesday, though these nonnas were young, more about the homemade biscuits/chronic overcatering and not the black outfit / cankle thing. I must say interacting with nonnas as a pregnant woman is even funnier than normal.
I also enjoy spotting couples pretending to be together who not-so secretly hate each other’s guts. Once, hub-in-boots and I spent a whole night at an Audreys gig at the Basement trying to figure out the backstory of a couple who sat and drank, looked miserable, and did not talk to each other or look at each other for the entire night. Lucky hub-in-boots is as warped as I am.
But fat man in sport takes the cake. Often literally.
Clearly being pregnant has affected our values system . We’re now more likely to check out the size /manoevrability/ brand of pram / baby carrier, guess how old a baby is, than play spot the monkey baby. With statements such as I knew it was a mountain buggy!, it’s not nearly as fun as geez did you SEE the head on that kid??. We also play ” pick which couple had ivf and which half was infertile” in the parenting / birth classes. We’re awesome at it.
We need to get out more so we can get back to proper live fat man in sport I think. And hope like hell, now I’ve shared all this, we don’t have a monkey baby !