quicko: wombatastic

Evidently not everyone who comes to Australia ends up dressed as a giant wombat.

Somehow these things tend to happen to me.

It all started when my flatmate asked if I'd like a free ticket to the Royal Easter Show.

The Royal Easter Show is something along the lines of a state fair, only much cleaner.  It's supposed to be where city meets country and city doesn't run screaming away.  It's pretty sterile.  I love it.

You can see baby farm animals (aww) and stalls galore, but with lease grease and fewer overtly sleazy men.  You can ride dinky rides and eat overpriced food.  You can look at art competitions and prize-winning vegetables.  You can get Showbags, which are bags full of show.  No, really, they're full of candy or prizes or gizmos or whatnot, depending on which one you buy.  And you can dress as a giant wombat.

That was the slight detail my flatmate rather underplayed.  I could get a free ticket, yes, but I had to parade about for half an hour in full mammalian regalia.  Like I said, somehow these things just happen to me.

And so I did.  I was the Optus wombat and got to ride in the Optus yellow convertible and do the macarena nonstop for 30 minutes.  Whether or not anyone realized it was the macarena (the wombat paws are rather restrictive) is up for grabs, but that's what it was.

That's right.  I wasn't just any giant wombat.  I was a giant dancing wombat.

Who very nearly keeled over between the dressing room and the car.  And then fell headlong into the car.  And then all but passed out from heat exhaustion.

But didn't!  Viva la wombat!