Life’s sticky situations
By Sheryl-Lee Kerr
AS I write this, Adelaide is having one of those humid days known in
highly technical parlance as “one of those humid days’’. When I grew up in Queensland, humidity was a way of life. If you didn’t have the matching
O-ring wet spots under each arm, you were obviously dead or a chairman of the board. Either way, it was very suspect.
It was accepted in Queensland that hot days meant fashion was
allowed to suffer in the interests of one’s wellbeing. For instance, shorts
were a must for men. Even socks and sandals didn’t illicit too many giggles
well, not as many as they deserved. And women offered their unstockinged, lily-white legs to the world, figuring: bah, what the heck? At least it went with the white skirt-suit and gold custom jewellery.
When I later lived in Sydney, I found the opposite true. Here,
fashion was an obligation, not a choice. I once spotted a Bellevue Heights
matriarch in furs one muggy day and could only conclude she was making a
statement about her right to be a well-dressed corpse.
Humid days also saw women putting on heavy-duty make-up in the
feeble, if not slightly arrogant, hope it would last them through the day.
This bred a condition known as Sydney Squint. It was typified by the rapid
and intense blinking of eyes while glaring ferociously at complete
strangers. Now they weren’t just being rude. At least, not all of them.
What was happening was a woman’s mousse, gel and/or hairspray all
started to heat up and mix with her perspiration on those warmer days. This exceedingly tart chemical cocktail then proceeded to delicately trickle down all those beautifully arched brows and make their way into her eyes.
For the menfolk out there who may not use cement-strength hair-care
products, the net effect is like taking one large lemon, slicing it in half
and grinding it into your naked eyeball, all the while pretending nothing is
wrong.
As a result, when I moved to Adelaide, my first thought was: “Ahhhh, what a blessed relief low humidity.”
This was shortly followed by my second thought: “Why are they
making me exit this plane from the rear ?!”
Thus the moral of the story is clear: gold jewellery and white suits
really aren’t a good look. And exiting from a plane’s rear does not
necessarily mean you should scream: “OH DEAR GOD, AN EMERGENCY EVACUATION?! WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE.”
(In case you were wondering.)
© Sheryl-Lee Kerr & The Advertiser, 12 OCT 1999