Ah, Melbourne Cup. How I love thee. Well, I don't, of course. I don't live in Melbourne so I don't get a day off. But then again I don't have a job, so I suppose it's a moot point. And while I can appreciate "the nation" stopping to watch the ponies, I don't know why it has suddenly become such a huge-ass deal. Perhaps one has to actually attend the actual race for it to make sense, because to me it's just an infinite number of Beckys and Darrens wearing bad clothes, drinking cheap sparkling wine, and then drunkenly fumbling in a back seat, making the next generation of Sharrilyns and Colbys. Le sigh. Australia isn't such a nice place, really.

The whole thing sort of reminds me of school formals, and to an extent, weddings. Sad, working-class women (well primarily women), who need an excuse to dress up, have a drink, and distract their minds with some frivolity and jubilance. Unfortunately, said frivolity and jubilance usually involves a bad (unflattering) dress, cheap (plastic) shoes, and an even uglier hat. I won't even mention "fascinators"; they give me the heebie-jeebies, and even the word is repugnant. Fasss-sin-ate-er. Shudder. The word reminds me of a Vaseline-smeared lens.

Today's Cup was quite novel though, as I actually ventured into a TAB. I've never really gone to one before, and was quite pleased with myself. Did you know they are all electronic now? They have these cool machines that suck the cards from your hands. Well, I was impressed. I didn't win anything though, but I didn't really expect to. I did a tight-arse bet, and did a few of those "Mystery Trifecta" thingies. Meh. I missed the "fashion parade" though, which is quite obviously the reason people get into it. I'm sad that I did too, as apparently Bec Cartwright looked like a fool. Observe:


Whore. I'd get a boob job before flashing around those unimpressive pancakes, dear. You know you look bad when Lleyton Hewitt looks comparatively ravishing.

I did, however, love this hat:

Oh so tongue-in-chic. If I were a chick I would totally nail Melbourne Cup fashion. Sigh. Sometimes I am such a fucking fruit, it upsets even me.