EFFIE BATEMAN | BRISBANE | CONTACT
Local bloke Lachlan Kirkwood has today decided he’s ready to get his feelings hurt, after sitting at the top of the stairs to eavesdrop on his family.
Given that they were talking in hushed whispers, it should have been evident to Lachlan that the chances of them singing his praises weren’t very high.
But as he walks up the stairs with a fresh piece of toast, the irrational part of Lachlan’s brain urges him to sit down in the quarter landing and have a listen. Just in case.
Picking at the errant bits of lint sticking to the carpet as he settles in for the long haul, Lachlan soons learns everything his family has ever thought about him.
“I keep asking him when he’s going to move out but all I hear is excuses”, says his mum, Tricia.
“Won’t put his hands in his pockets either, mind you. Not like I’m asking for much. Wouldn’t kill him to buy some fucking groceries every now and then. Or cook.”
Lachlan’s grandfather chimes in that ‘kids these days have it too fucking easy anyway.’
“And he’s a slob! The number of times I’ve had to go elbow deep with the toilet brush. Swear to god he must angle his ass a certain way. Honestly, I pity the woman who marries him.”
Collapsing in a series of snorts and laughter, the Kirkwood family make a few more jibes at Lachlan’s expense before moving on to insulting Tricia’s husband.
“Like father like son, huh? Bloody useless the pair of them.”
Grimacing as he wipes a lob of vegemite onto the carpet, a disgraced Lachlan heads off to his room to drown his sorrows in a game of FIFA.
More to come.
