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Thread: Tales From Bratislava

  1. #1
    Sitri
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    Default Tales From Bratislava

    A woman and her husband used to work for me years ago. He went back to law school and became an attorney. She was my creative writer. Both of these people are characters.

    Once, he went into MS Word, and you know the autocorrection feature? Well, another female worker was putting together her resume. He told Word that everytime she wrote the word. "job" it would change it to "blow job" needless to say... an interesting resume resulted. Said female worker became irritated. Said boss had to instruct the kids on what not to do...

    They now live in Bratislava. Anyway, I thought some of you would want to live vicarously in Bratislava. Here is a funny story of her bicycle trip..in Austria.



    Oh, I almost forgot the review of the carp restaurant..

  2. #2
    Sitri
    Guest

    Default Re:Tales From Bratislava

    More Tales from Bratislava.

    Spain was, well, Spain. There's not much to report about staying in a lovely complex right on the beach with a green oasis of private gardens. Other than this was the starting point for an endless series of humiliating events.

    Our first day at the pool, the girls and I are playing in the shallow end where there were stairs to sit on and it was shady. The Spouse ambles over. I get out. Pass the Torch of Parental Responsibility.

    I am lying in the shade, when I notice someone throw a pair of sunglasses onto the ground near my head and RUN by. I think, "Darn kids." In the back of my mind, I hear a splash. Beat. Beat. The other shoe falls. I sit up in time to see the lifeguard's feet as she dives in. I do a mental inventory: Eldest Daughter is next to me. Spouse is standing at the pool's edge watching Youngest Daughter . . .oh, dear.

    The lifeguard is pulling Youngest Daughter out of the pool.

    Seems she was fearlessly trying to walk across the pool, unaware that the water was going to get deeper as she went. Never even got her hair wet, but was, according to the lifeguard, starting to look worried. We were, of course, mortified by our Bad Parent status. But the lifeguard was kind and did not scold us nor call Children's Services. We went upstairs and got the water wings and inflatable ring immediately. The child was not at all flapped by the experience.

    However, after witnessing her narrow escape from the Jaws of Death, a few days later we WANTED to kill her. She and her sister were ordered to remain on their towels while we went to the other side of the pool to investigate the ice cream situation for them. We hadn't even read the price list when we hear wailing, Lucille Ball style. Youngest Daughter is in full roar. We launch an inquiry and determine that Eldest Daughter has just punched her because she had been singing “You are bad, bad, bad, and all the grass between us is mine, mine, mine.�

    More threats and other stern discussions ensue. We command them to lie motionless on their respective towels. We lament their lack of good behaviour, speculate that perhaps the problem is a lack of spankings, threaten that from this moment forward their days will be spent locked in the apartment if there is not an immediate improvement in performance.

    It was then that the nice woman under the umbrella closest to us leans over and says kindly, “We have said those exact words to our children countless times. You are not alone, you know.� Horrors! She's British! She heard every word. Another mortification.

    But our ability to be humiliated is not limited by borders.

    The weekend after we returned from Spain, we went to Austria to celebrate Youngest Daughter's fourth birthday. Saturday, we spent at the Maerchenpark near Rust (), where Youngest Daughter got trapped in Sumpfburg, an elaborate jungle-gym-type apparatus. We could hear her terrified screams coming from the upper reaches of the tower. Eldest Daughter tried to talk her down, but she was having none of it, so, since I am the smaller parent, I was nominated to go in after her.

    Let me tell you, Edmund Hilary at least had Tenzing Sherpa to help on HIS climb. This was tough going. I kept bonking my head and cursing while crawling on hands and knees over wire mesh, climbing what felt like sheer walls, and trying to fold my adult body into kid-sized spaces. When I finally “summited,� I looked out the porthole to see a happy family unit on the ground below: Spouse, Eldest Daughter, Youngest Daughter, all smiling and waving at me as if I was leaving port on the QEII. Seems some nice dad had helped her down. I was hoping the Red Cross would come for me.

    The Hat Trick of Humiliation was completed during Sunday lunch in Eisenstadt. I take Youngest Daughter to the toilet, direct her to her own stall, enter mine, and begin my business. Just as I realize that these toilets feature a self-cleaning seat system, something I have not seen since Miami, I hear ear-piercing shrieks. Someone's toilet has begun to clean itself, and Someone is clearly startled and terrified. I wrestle with my knickers and buttons, because I know there is a woman in the third stall who will be wondering whose child is in such distress. My toilet begins its own circular cleaning ritual, while I burst forth, holding my shorts up manually, and try to open her stall door without letting them fall.

    Poor dear. Her face was tear-stained face. Her hands were shaking. And, remarkably, the experience has not resulted in soiled knickers for her. It was no easy task to (1) Keep a straight face, and (2) Talk her back onto the potty. Upon returning to our table, we determined that her shrieks were clearly audible as far away as the bar. Spouse and Eldest Sister could barely contain themselves, but she has yet to find anything funny about the experience.

    Now, alas, vacation season is over, and we are back to our regular routines in Bratislava. I'm hoping we can rest up in time for Christmas!

    Amanda Surbey

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