|We've never even been to acting school.|
|Seriously. Never had one lesson.|
In the past, whenever Gemma had declined joining Flex Chong and I on a night out, we'd always make sure we brought her home a present to show her that we'd missed her. This is almost certainly the reason she once found a bag full of leaves, menus and real estate flyers outside her bedroom door. Rumour has it that it also has something to do with the shopping trolley that rumbled swervingly down our hallway one evening.
So now, with Gemma away for four days, we had to do something special. Sort of more special than the big piece of bark and number-six-painted-on-a-board that we'd already brought her that weekend, anyway.
|Although to be honest, it could be a number 9.|
Now, the availability of circus props is unpredictable in discount stores. We expected to find clown masks, but failed.
|Carnival and Big-Bird's-About-To-Eat-My-Soul masks, though? No problem.|
|You should've seen his underpants.|
But we more than made up for it with a line of questionably-positioned circus animals...
|They're all in a 'lion'. No, wait! That one's riding 'bear-back'. No, wait! I've got a billiion of these...|
A foam head and a clown hat...
|And, of course, your nightmares taken care of for the next fortnight|
|As seen in circuses across the nation|
|And you always get a bit stuck in the back of your throat like a pu... er, like a church hymn.|
But, whether or not the rest was circus-y enough, I think where we really excelled was in the balloon department. One hundred and fifty of those static-charged bad boys. Seriously, I've never been that puffed out around that much latex before. Shut up. Keep going. Shut up.
|Like the prettiest and most severe case of bed-hemorrhoids ever.|