C Chapter Three - One More Sleep

Three - One More Sleep

Christmas Eve. A whole twenty-four hours since my porno experience on
the beach.

I've matured overnight.

Time to hit the suburban-like big town for a spot of last minute
Christmas shopping and to do the deed.

'Are you ready Daise?'

Twenty minutes confined with Clover. Ewww. Just get it over
with&;#8230;

'Yep. Coming Mum.'

Yum. Pies here are divine.

Damn! Of course I'm wearing a white t-shirt! Still pie without sauce is
pretty ordinary. Aromatherapeutic too. The salad Mum and Clover are
picking at on the deck doesn't smell too appetising.

At least I feel better about yesterday. Even allowing for the damage to
my beliefs.

I have just executed Emily's cunning plan. Well a part of it, anyway.
She's forgiven for the two hundred and fifty four calls I made to reach
her (Well it seemed like that!).
She's so reassuring.
'You need a change, to make a clearer statement. Don't worry Daise!
Even if you do see him again he won't recognise you with your new look
and boobs covered.' See.

Off with the hair.

The hair I had been planning to grow to my bum in a fit of protest
against hairdressers in general for the all the crap they have ever
spouted to me about treatments, using twenty dollar shampoos and
robbing the world of its aluminium supplies. God knows what all that
dye does to the ecology, but who cares, right? So long as people like
Sarah get their six-weekly service.
I've compromised my principles.

Yes, embarrassment has won over social and environmental concern. I am
officially a hypocrite and with the ethics of the Federal Minister for
Immigration. Maybe, because you didn't actually do anything else but
have a basic cut, you could be a little forgiven?

Ahhh, the centre is soooo hot. Yuck! Scorched tongue. Mmm, still tastes
good though.

I'll just have to make sure I make it all up somehow. I am going to
pick up every tiny god-damned piece of litter I see. No cigarette butt
shall escape my vigilance. This would make up for a lot, surely? Yes,
of course.

Yummo. I'll walk down to the shop and get a Turkish Delight later.
Guess I'd better check the hair again.

Mmmm. Dirt blonde Doris Daisy. Designed to swing gently above my
shoulders (as the yellow haired 'stylist' commented through her chewing
gum.)
Glad I didn't go with the original plan of dying it black though. A bit
too Gothic for me. Imagine the guilt if I had? Errrr! Besides, Mum
would have gone ballistic. Dad wouldn't even have noticed.

Clover of course had laughed.
'Look at Daisy and her retro eighties bob. Your head now looks like a
bell. Aren't you taking the Christmas thing a bit too far? AND don't
you shun hair stylists?'

She wasn't worth a response.

Mum was far more kind, 'Nice. Time for change hey Daise?'

Clover is right. My head does look like it should be in some church
tower. Ok, so I know it's not the best cut in the world, especially for
an inner-suburban anti-teenager with really thick hair, but I wear it
back a lot, so it doesn't really matter too much. Does it? The main
thing is that it looks a little different. It looks healthy. Mmmmm,
'healthy' will just have to do!

It's 4pm. The positive attitude is dead.
Bloody Clover! If she calls me bloody Daisy Bell one more
time&;#8230;

'Girls, it's such a nice afternoon, why don't we go for a walk?'

Yeah right Mum! Thanks for the interruption. I was just about to give
Clover a caning.

'Oh no. Thank you Mum, but I have to wrap the Christmas presents and
trim the tree. Daisy has refused to help of course, so it will take me
ages.'

Suck!

'Okay then. Daisy, perhaps you can lend a hand? Join in the spirit of
things.'
Mmmm, nice psychobabble smile Mum. Hypocrite. You're just about to go
back to your room to work. Don't see you spreading too much joy around
the place either.

Actually, maybe this could work for me. Retribution.

She's turned her back, one step, and two steps&;#8230;

'Clover, could you pass me your cigarette lighter so I can light the
spiced candles? It will make the living area seem much more
Christmassy.'

It worked.

Clover looks from me to Mum. 'DAISY&;#8230;'
Mum's back before I can say 'what' and is livid. I know that look.
Clover's in for an hour-long session. At least. Sucked in,
Clover.

Now run, before Clover can retaliate.

If I don't stop laughing, my tummy will burst.

Excellent, the beach is really, really quiet. I guess it is quite late
on Christmas Eve.

So here I am, with my new hair, trying to appear carefree, which of
course would be different from my demeanour of the previous day, and
I'm beginning to feel a little guilty about tormenting my
sibling.

I mean it's not like Clover didn't deserve to be hammered for being
such a bitch to me, but maybe I shouldn't have made it all up. Clover
hates the smell of cigarette smoke, always has, (the only matter on
which we agree!). Besides, she'd be worried about her skin texture. Not
cancer. Her pores!

I wonder if she smokes pot though? Anything else? Who would really
know?
Even Em and I have had the occasional puff. That's more than an
exaggeration. Like twice. This year. Stolen from Em's Dad's fiftieth
birthday supply. His sad attempt to relive his feral uni days and stave
middle age. How could he think we couldn't smell it from the old
stables? He still has no idea we know. The only feeling I received was
nausea. Even the second time. I can't even get stoned. We probably
mixed it incorrectly. Hopeless!

Well, Clover's retribution won't be too great. Juvenile name-calling
would be all that it would amount too. Even though Clover isn't the
dumbest bimbo on the block, she's not the brightest either. After being
blessed with a name such as Daisy, what were a few more?

My neck is killing me. I must have spent an hour trying to check out
the back of my sophisticated new do in our tiny mirror in our tiny
green tiled bathroom and given myself whiplash in the process. The
hairdresser had given me a quick look with one of those 1970s looking
circular mirrors, the ones with chipped fake tortoise-shell frames, but
I had been too ashamed of myself to have a really good look. She
probably thought I was a rude little city cow.

Anyway, my neck is probably as sore as Regan's from the Exorcist, which
is what I probably deserve for my caning of Clover.

Worth it, for sure!