gullybogan

Dear Reader,

The worst possible thing has happened between Sybylla and Trainboy.

She’s met the parents.

But that’s not the worst possible thing.

She and Trainboy have decided that she will be his Tutor, helping him out with his studies for the last weeks of his Year 12.

But that’s not the worst possible thing.

She’s decided that her unit isn’t suitable as a venue for Sybylla Tutorial Services. It seems that the initially well-presented young man that she shares the unit with (on a purely financial basis – no benefits) has revealed his penchant for black leather, Harley Davidsons, rottweilers, and stoned skank hos.

1. The Harley is parked in the front room, because it’s not safe, apparently, to leave it out on the street.

2. The rottweiler is under the kitchen table, because it’s not safe, apparently, to leave it out on the street, either, but for entirely different reasons. The dog just sits there under the table, crunching up beef bones all day with its teeth the size of mobile phones.
3. The staff of stoned skank hos seem to have a daily roster system that involves them taking it in turns to sit on what’s left of the couch in their stained underwear and Cougar singlets, sucking on bongs and giggling at the flashing lights on Deal Or No Deal.

But that’s not the worst possible thing.

«Oh, come on! You’ve got a WHOLE HOUSE! There’s rooms here that have absolutely NO function… All i want is ONE room. One measly room… one measly room with a table…»

So that’s the worst possible thing.

Sybylla Tutorial Services now operates from our kitchen table.

It’s probably only the worst possible thing from the perspective of Princess and me, but – let’s face it – that’s the perspective i’m writing from, dear Reader.

I’ve told Sybylla that it can’t all just be canoodling and playing Guitar Hero, and she’s said that she HAS tutored before, in case i wasn’t aware (i wasn’t), and that she knows EXACTLY what she’s doing.

She even has glasses she can wear to make her look more like a tutor.

I was going to ask her if Trainboy’s parents realise that the late-twenties-something pseudo-lesbian aimlessly-drifting-waitress-between-careers they’ve taken on as their son’s tutor has more than an academic interest in him, but i figured it was best to just let sleeping dogs lie.

Preferably under her kitchen table, in her unit, crunching up beef bones all day. With her and Trainboy sitting at that table, hoping that the dog won’t mistake their legs for beef bones.

But that’s not going to happen.

They’re going to be sitting at our kitchen table, canoodling.

Or something.

I figure she’ll get tired of him more quickly this way, so maybe it’s not the worst possible thing after all. I guess we’ll have to wait and see.

Yours,
Gullybogan