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The Kept Woman

May 15, 2008

Kids bounce back.

PJ took Ella to her riding lesson last night, and I went with Madeleine an hour later for her lesson.  When we arrived we found Ella cuddling up with her daddy on one of the benches, crying her little eyes out.  Oh dear, did she come off?

She was riding one of those little firecracker ponies, the ones who sometimes go off at a quicker-than-normal canter.  The kids were jumping over low poles, going over in two-point position (bum up out of the seat, like a jockey) but Ella lost her stirrups then she lost the reins then tumbled forward over the pony's head and landed heavily on the ground, rolling a couple of times and trying not to get tangled up in the pony's legs.  I didn't see it happen, but PJ assured me that it looked like it bloody hurt.

I took her home and she seemed very uncomfortable all the way home in the car.  I felt her tummy and gave it a bit of a squeeze and she yelled one of those yells that kids can't fake.  I decided a trip to the hospital for a second, expert opinion was warranted.

The thing with Ella is that she loves the attention.  All kids do (so do some adults) but she takes it to an extreme.  Not only will she sneak little side glances to see if you're watching, but she'll actually ask you - did you see me sitting on daddy's lap when you arrived?  Did you see my crying?  Could you tell I was hurt?  And how did that make you feel?  Were you scared or just worried? 

All the way to the hospital in the car, she couldn't seem to make her mind up as to how much pain she was in.  It makes it very difficult to assess whether she has suffered a serious internal injury, or just the general unpleasantness of falling off a cantering horse (been there, not pleasant).  When we arrived at the ER and walked up to the triage nurse Ella was looking like a kid who had absolutely nothing wrong with her.  She wasn't even pale.  I almost wanted her to vomit violently all over me, just so I didn't feel like an idiot there in the triage room, surrounded by other patients who all looked far sicker than Ella. 

The nurse asked me what happened, and I made a feeble attempt to describe the seriousness of her fall and the fact that she's come off before but on those occasions she bounced.  I said her tummy was very tender, it seemed to hurt to breathe, that she yelled when I pressed on a spot just below her ribcage.  Honestly, she was much worse before, I'm not making this up, I'm not one of those helicopter mothers, I promise.

They took us to the examining room and did some more pressing and prodding, none of which caused anything more than a slight grunt from the patient.  They gave her some panadol and told us to go and wait half an hour and see if that helps.

Within ten minutes she was completely fine.  Yes, a little sore, but otherwise back to her old self (nagging me for a packet of chips from the vending machine).  We waited the half hour, by which time I was completely sure that she had recovered, so we said thanks and goodbye and went home.

When you're a parent you need to be prepared for all sorts of unpleasant sensations.  There's the sleep deprivation, of course.  And the sore back from lifting the baby incorrectly, day after day.  The exhaustion.  The fear, the worry, the concern that something terrible is about to happen.  You have to be prepared to drink your coffee cold - because you'd forgotten you'd made yourself a cup or you were worried about it tipping on the baby.  And you have to be prepared for the sensation of not knowing for sure if your child has suffered an actual injury, or they're just being a bit melodramatic and enjoying the spectacle,  or they really are bleeding internally but don't know it because that can happen without you knowing... and you have to be prepared for the look the triage nurse gives you.  In our case, it was a look that said "Well, you WILL let your kids ride horses" and "She looks fine to me and clearly you're one of those mothers" and "I know I'm smiling and appearing to be all sympathetic and understanding but actually?  There is another kid back here with a real injury and I need you to stop wasting my time."

April 28, 2008

You're so cool

The love theme from True Romance is my new ringtone.  You know the one?  It's played right at the start of the movie, a coupla times during it (I'm watching it right now, and Clarence is just back from killing Drexl, and it's on again) and again right at the end.  It's played on a xylophone and it was written by Hans Zimmer.  It's such a happy, innocent little tune for an otherwise bleak and violent and incredible film.

I'm waiting for a fellow Quentin Tarantino fan to hear my phone ringing and give me a nod and tell me I'm so cool.

Because I'm a 37 year old Kept Woman and I'll take whatever I can get.

By the way - PJ made it happen.  He's so clever.  He wanted me to tell you that.

April 02, 2008

The cost of having a job

This having a job thing is costing me a fortune.  So far this week I've spent $20 on car parking fees, $130 on a babysitter, $20 to buy takeaway dinner because I didn't have time to go to the shops on the way home, and I'm about to fork out a few hundred bucks for a new suit because my old one is dangerously close to ripping apart in the crotch.  Tell me again why I'm doing this?

Oh yeah.  Novel fodder.

The Panel asked the candidate why he had applied for the job, whether there was anything in particular about this company that attracted him.  He sat up a little straighter in his chair, then leaned forward as though he wanted to let them in on a very important secret. 

"Well," he said, "to be honest, it's the fact that I'll be able to park my car across the road, near that construction site?  And it's free over there, no meters or anything.  Because with the cost of parking in the city now, and rising interest rates, it's really not doing me any good to continue in my other job.  I'd rather work for you lot and save myself twenty-five bucks a week." 

I hear ya, buddy.

March 29, 2008

Take THAT, girlfriend!

Someone found my site when they googled "what do I do now that I'm a kept woman?"

Let me tell ya, honey.  You start by making chicken stock.  Why?  Because you can. 

I had coffee with my friend Ann the other day, and the weather in Canberra has just turned chilly so of course we started talking about what kind of food we'll need to start cooking.  Ann's a kept woman, too.  But she doesn't do chicken stock.  We were talking about making large quantities of soup, and I was extolling the virtues of home made chicken stock, and she crinkled up her nose and said she can't be bothered and anyway, does it really make that much difference because frankly I'd rather go for a pedicure?

Ann, Ann, Ann.  Let me tell ya, honey.  Any kind of soup, any kind of anything, is improved beyond measure when made with home made stock.  It is SOOOO worth the effort.  And it's not even that much effort.

Oops, forgot to take photos.  You'll have to use your imagination.

Get your biggest pot and put as many dead chickens as you can possibly fit into it.  My local supermarket very considerately sells the de-feathered kind, so I put at least three 'chicken frames' into the pot.  Today, though, I went a little nuts, and put in FIVE.  I know, crazy, right? 

I told Ann that you need to add your aromatics to the pot and she gave me a look that I totally deserved.  A look that said 'Trish, you're a wanker.'  Aromatics is just a fancy way of saying celerycarrotsonions.  I'm fresh out of celery so I just put an onion and a couple of carrots.  And then I threw in two old mushrooms, and a chopped up sweet potato.  If I had a bunch of parsley I'd have put it in there too, but I didn't. 

It's now 5.50pm and those chooks have been bubbling away for nearly four hours.  They're about done.  So now I'm going to strain the liquid into another saucepan, I'm going to throw out all the chicken bones and the mushy veggies, and then I'm going to turn the heat up under the liquid and boil it like crazy for a few minutes to reduce it even more.

And then I'm going to take a couple of litres over to Ann and say THERE! Now you tell me that this stuff is as good as your Campbell's Reduced Fat Real Chicken Stock.   Let's whip up a quick batch of soup with my stock, and a batch of soup with that fake stuff, and let's see if it's as good as mine.

It's just not.

And that's what you do when you're a kept woman.  You make chicken stock and then you challenge anyone to deny that you haven't done something completely valuable with your day.

March 18, 2008

One of those days

It started with a quick eyebrow waxing at the salon, followed by a relaxation massage at the gym (a freebie for joining), then lunch in town with my friend Clare, and finally dinner with my little family in Dickson. 

It was all going so well.

And then the kids.  Ah, the kids.  You know how they're sharing a room now?  Well, on the days it doesn't work, it's bloody awful.  The accuse each other of making too much noise.  She's keeping me awake with her breathing!  That sort of thing.  I know, it's ridiculous.

PJ had gone out to run a couple of errands and the kids did that thing where they completely ignore me.  I think I might have actually gone red in the face with anger and frustration at the sheer ridiculousness of loud breathing and yet they responded by answering back and getting out of bed to hit each other.

I know.  I know.

I told them if they couldn't sleep together in that room, they could sleep together on the back porch.  And still they continued to argue.

When PJ's home, he tells them once to be quiet and go to sleep, and they obey.  There is no obeying when mummy lays down the law.  I can be in full flight, doing my best impersonation of my mother when she was my age; that woman used to scare the shit out of me when she was angry, and as a kid I responded by going straight to bed and hoping she wouldn't go downstairs and get the wooden spoon.  I'm not much into wooden spoons but I'm also not much into kids who wont go to sleep despite being tired.  Maybe I just need to get myself a wooden spoon to wave around a bit. 

So this is what happens when I'm a single mum at bedtime (and granted, that's not as often as it used to be).  Bedtime goes to shite and I end up yelling at the girls and they end up crying and I spend the rest of the night feeling absolutely terrible for having handled the situation so badly. 

We need a better routine at bedtime, something that will actually send them off to sleep.  Because at the moment the routine doesn't work, and the kids are all over the shop.  Maybe I need to go on a holiday for a week or two so I can relax a bit and PJ can recalibrate the kids.

February 22, 2008

Is this really my life??

Wow, you're up early.

Yeah, I've got that meeting with the people from Finance, I need to finish off the briefing papers.

Oh, yeah.  (yawn, stretch)

What about you?  What have you got on?

Umm... I've got a riding lesson this morning.

Nice. 

Yeah. (yawn, stretch)

OK, well, see you tonight.  Love you!

Love you too.

February 19, 2008

The Korean Bath House Experience

Now that I'm a Kept Woman I keep wondering about what I'll do with all this spare time I allegedly have.  Massage?  Day Spa?  Cooking Classes?

A couple of years ago my friend Melissa arranged for me and another friend, Ann, to go to a Korean Bath House. I blogged about it at the time so if you're interested in reading, go right ahead.  I just read it again and crossed Korean Bath House off my list of things I might do and instead wrote "floss my teeth."

PART ONE:

This Friday night I'm flying up to Sydney for the weekend with a couple of girlfriends.  We're going to stay in Darling Harbour and do some shopping but generally just enjoy a few days without having to hear the words "Muuuuummmmmm can you wipe my bottom?"

My friend Melissa called me tonight to let me know that we've booked our hotel, and also to check if I'm ready for the Korean Bath House experience, which we're scheduled to have on Saturday morning.  I'm not sure how one prepares for the Korean Bath House experience, and if anyone out there has some advice I'd like to hear it.

Apparently it all starts with getting naked.  The men and women are separated, but the spa-addicted Personal Assistants with rock-hard buns are chucked in with the menopausal Weight Watchers and the stretch-marked within an inch of their lives Working Mothers.  If you've got any dignity you might as well leave it in your locker.  Along with the spectacles that correct your poor eyesight.  Because, really, you don't need to see someone else's wobbly bits.  And you don't need to see that they're checking out yours.

Apparently, and this is what my Korean Bathed friend Helen told me, there are little Korean women who lay you out flat on a table and then scrub your dead skin off with Brilo-pads until they reach bone.  They scrub you ALL OVER.  Yes.  You get up from the table and see that you have indeed shed your skin, and yes, it's definitely dead.  There's soaking in a large warm pool involved; can't remember if this is before or after the scrub (Maybe it's both).  I can recall that it's a communal warm pool.  Again, try not to make eye contact.  And no giggling.

I called Helen to ask her if I was going to feel uncomfortable with the whole walking around in a room full of naked strangers thing.  She told me that, compared with some of the other visitors to the Baths, I was in pretty good shape and had nothing to be ashamed of (I should say, at this point, that Helen hasn't seen me naked since we were, like, three year olds, so she's completely making this up... I wouldn't show her my post-childbearing naked body right now because she's pregnant with her first baby and the shock of What Can Happen might kill her).  She said she saw (through blurred, unspectacled vision) a generously-proportioned older woman being scrubbed by two Korean ladies... one would do the scrubbing while the other moved bits and separated folds... eeww.  I'm pretty sure my scrubbing will be a one-Korean lady affair.  God I hope so.

Then there's a massage, and the little Korean ladies leap up onto the table and then walk all over you (you're lying face-down) as they hold onto a beam on the roof to steady themselves.  Here's the part where I'll be hoping she doesn't dig a heel into my large intestine and squeeze out a little fart. I'm sorry, I know that massages are supposed to be relaxing, but I'm pretty sure my preoccupation with this particular form of humiliation in the public domain will keep me alert and on-guard.  Again, it's going to be all about stifling giggles.

Now that I think about it, I'm not really sure why I signed up for this.  When Mel asked me if I was 'ready' for the Korean Bath I did a quick stat check - hairy legs? Hideously unkempt bikini line?  Butch underarm stubble?  If I had time to squeeze in a quick tummy-tuck and bust-lift by Saturday morning I could probably answer that question with a little more certainty.  No, I have to say I'm not at all prepared for my Korean Bath.  And it will almost certainly take some time to recover from my Korean Bath.  I have it on good authority that I'll feel AMAZING afterwards... all glowing and peaceful and at one with the universe or some such malarky.   I can get that from a block of good chocolate. 

No, I think this Korean Bath experience is one for the Things To Do Before You Die list.  And in completing this particular task I might be able to tick off a couple of other things on that very same list:

1. Walk naked through a room full of other naked people without staring at their saggy bits.
2. Laugh so hard at yourself that the champagne comes out through your nose.

PART TWO: BATHED

When I emerged, two hours later, the receptionist asked me what I thought of the Korean Ginseng Bath House Experience.  I looked at her through tired eyes, and said "that was weird." Perhaps not my most poetic response, and possibly not one that she was used to hearing.  But then, how best to describe those two hours?  All I could think was: my skin is smooth, my back is sore, and I need to blog about this as soon as possible.

I went to the Crest Hotel in Kings Cross - a part of Sydney best known for its XXXX-rated clubs and raunchy end-of-footy-season send-offs.  The Crest Hotel is looking a little, well, forlorn.  I don't know its history, but if I'd been in Kings Cross for 30-odd years my paintwork would be peeling and my carpets would need a good shampoo, too***.  The Bath House is located on the fourth floor.  You come out of the elevators and you can smell patchouli, which seems to be the International Olfactory Symbol for Alternative Medicine.  After you've paid for your treatment, you are given a numbered locker key, your green brillo-pads, and directed to the change rooms - women at one end of the hall, men at the other.  We three girls - Melissa, Ann & Me - wandered to the right end and went in search of our lockers.  A smallish room with tall thin lockers, each one containing a fresh towel and a light-weight cotton robe.  Instructions on the inside of the door told us to get undressed, leave all our belongings in the locker, and to take our towel and brillo-pads with us  The key went around our wrists. 

The locker room is full of women in various states of undress, and either about to be bathed, or already bathed.  Everyone was looking furiously at the ground or into their lockers, but your peripheral vision comes into its own and you can see bare bottoms everywhere.  I had my back to Melissa and Ann, and I missed the moment when Ann, who'd been dreading the whole experience, dead-panned "I'm not enjoying this" and Melissa started giggling.  She was still giggling as we filed out of the change room and into the short corridor that separates the locker room from the shower room.  There's a hanging rack there to put your robes on - yes, the robes you had been wearing for ten seconds.  Why do they give you a robe? 

The corridor opens into the shower room - a big room lined with mirrors that, if you're sitting on the little plastic stools in front of them, are at head height.  But since you and everyone else is standing, you get to see lots of bottoms.  All angles.  Mel was still giggling as we walked over to a shower each and rinsed off.  You have to do this before you climb into the ginseng bath.  The showers are the hand-held kind, and there are wall-mounted soap dispensers.  Some people sat on the stools and took their time, but we hosed off pretty quickly and went to the bath.

It's quite strange walking around in a room full of naked women. There's no way you can not look because, try as you might, your peripheral vision is picking up most of what's going on.  The last time I was naked in a room full of people was when I was in hospital in the throes of labour - standing in a shower, PJ spraying hot water on my back, with the midwives and doctor discussing how far along I was, while I groaned and made sounds that were later described as 'horsey'. You don't care about nakedness during childbirth.  Nor, apparently, neighing.  Of course it's completely different when everyone else is naked, too.  Your mind skips from 'gosh, her bum is much bigger than mine' to 'golly, I remember when my tits were that perky.'  But mostly you're just trying to act nonchalant.  In a room full of naked women it's best to appear indifferent.

(I have it on good authority that, in the men's bath, the illusion of indifference is easily betrayed by that well-known International Symbol for Really Rather Interested, Actually.)

The first bath is the Ginseng Bath - the water was warm, and mostly still.  There seemed to be a spa-jet on one side, but there were three women right in front of it who never moved so I didn't get to find out if there was a massage to be had already.   The water smelled slightly of something - ginseng, I guess - and it was nice and relaxing.  The sides of the bath were high enough to warrant a couple of steps to climb into the bath.  Like getting out of a car in a short skirt, you learned very quickly to keep your legs together.  And with the water nice and still there was no froth-and-bubbles to hide under, so you learned very quickly to look people straight in the eye and nowhere else.

So I was in a room full of naked people and was thinking to myself that some women have lots more (and lots less) pubic hair than me.  Yep, that was what I was thinking.  PJ wanted to know my impression of different boobs, but they didn't really catch my attention quite as startlingly as the extraordinarily different pubic hair.  While Melissa, Ann and I tried very hard not to look, we all talked later about the tall, athletic woman whose bikini line had clearly never been introduced to the wonders of waxing. Crikey.  Anyway, moving on.

There are three baths in this room, all in a row.  The middle bath was hot water (really just warm) and the last one was cold.  You can get in and out of them whenever you want.  They're not just baths, they're holding tanks.  You sit there and soak and go pruny while you wait for someone to come and call out your locker number to tell you that you're Next. 

(There are also two saunas in this room - one wet and one dry.  We went into the wet one, and sat our bare asses down on the wooden seats.  I would really have liked to have been sitting on a towel.)

Oh wow, I just remembered the guy we saw.  I'm sure it was a bloke.  He walked through the bath room, wearing his bathrobe and a towel wrapped in a Joan Collins turban around his head and straight into one of the saunas. Melissa saw him too.  His arms and legs were hairless but his face was very masculine and his eyebrows were very bushy.  The fact that he was wearing a bathrobe (when the rest of us were butt naked) was, to me, sure evidence that he had something to hide.  I was quite shocked.  There was an attendant standing nearby and I called her over and told her that I thought I had seen a man.  He came out of the sauna at that moment, and she looked at him then turned to me and said "oh, no, that's a woman, she's one of our regulars."  Well, if she wasn't a bloke that day I'm pretty sure she was at some stage in her life.  If you can't obey the signs (the ones that say "nudity is a pre-requisite") then I don't think you should be allowed in, no matter what your particular situation. But that's just my opinion.

After about an hour spent in the various baths, I was summoned to the Massage Room.  I climbed out of the bath and followed my little Korean lady in her black Bonds bra-top and boy-briefs past the showers and into another room.  There were about twenty red vinyl-covered massage tables, most of them with naked bodies on them, relaxed and covered with oils and towels while the masseurs worked their magic.  I was directed to an empty table and told to "lie down, please, on your back".

The floor is tiled, and completely wet.  The beds are all quite close together;  I was splashed a few times with the spray off someone else's back as their masseur slapped their skin with cupped hands.  The room was too bright; fluorescent light globes took away any shred of dignity you thought you may have had left.  The room looked like a morgue - all those naked bodies, supine and silent on their red autopsy benches.  The ambiance would have been much improved if they would swap the fluoro lights for halogens with dimmer switches. 

I handed my masseur my brillo-pads (they are actually little square pockets, just big enough to cover the masseur's small hands) and lay on the bed. For the next fifteen minutes or so she scrubbed my body from between my toes up to behind my ears.  She rinsed me off with a bucket of warm water and then asked me to roll onto my front.  After she'd scrubbed my back she asked me to lie on my side, rinse, roll over, scrub, rinse again.  The red vinyl was incredibly slippery.  The beds are not particularly wide, and I was very conscious of the ceramic tiled floor beneath me.  I wondered more than once what it would be like to slip off the side and into the puddle of warm water and dead skin cells that were collecting on the floor. Ewww. 

She was a very efficient scrubber.  I saw lots of dead skin - certainly a lot more than I thought I would have.  She was very quick, and gave my bare nipples exactly the same level of attention as my shoulders and feet.  When she was scrubbing my buttocks and the tops of my legs she managed to slip her brillo-covered hands right there.  I'm telling you this so that, if you ever find yourself at the Ginseng Bath House, you won’t be so surprised. 

I can't remember what came next.  I know that I was covered in oil at one point, but there was another time when I was also covered in honey. She had wrapped a rolled up tea towel around my face, looping it around my chin and tying it at the top of my head.  She got a handful of grated cucumber and sprinkled it all over my face (the tea towel stopping it from sliding off and collecting in my ears) and then proceeded to pour warm honey all over my body.  She massaged me from head to toe, and then told me to flip over so she could do my back.  This was a very nice massage - her hands were incredibly strong and found all the stiff muscles.  At one point she must have hit a sweet spot and I groaned loud enough for her to ask "too much for you? too much?" and so she backed off a little.

After another couple of buckets of warm water she told me to lie on my front and draped warm, wet towels over my whole body.  All of a sudden I could feel her climbing up onto the table with me, and then she was sitting on my bottom, leaning her body weight forward onto her hands which were kneading the muscles and skin on my shoulders and upper back.  And then she put one foot, then the other onto my bottom and stood up.  I have no idea how she was balancing there; the towels prevented her from slipping off, but there was no beam above her that she could hold onto.  So I lay very still and tried not to make any sudden movements that would surely send her plummeting to her doom, or at the very least into the soupy mix of dead skin, honey and warm water on the floor.

She stood on my bottom for a while, and I pictured her walking on the spot, or kneading my buttocks the way a cat paws at deep pile carpet.  I'd taken the advice of one of the signs on the wall that said to drink lots of water to replace body fluids while in the Bath House, and my bladder was getting increasingly nervous at the prospect of having to hang onto four cups of water whilst being trodden on by a suddenly very heavy little Korean lady. 

She walked up my back, her feet splayed out sideways from my spine, her heels digging into the middle of my back.  I wondered if she might inadvertently snap one of my ribs.  But mostly it felt fantastic. Obviously a very strong massage, but a good one.  When she climbed off she took the towels with her, then spent the next few minutes slapping me all over with cupped hands.  I've had massages in the past where the masseur has used a technique to release toxins, and I think this is what she was doing with all the slapping.  It felt great, and afterwards when I felt a bit crampy in my stomach I realised that it had been very effective.

And then suddenly it was over.  She'd washed me off one more time and then said "OK, all finished now" and helped me to sit up.  I went out to the shower room and rinsed off one more time, then to find my bathrobe (which I didn't bother putting on) and back to my locker.  I changed into my clothes and went to the toilet and then wandered out to the lobby and told the girl that it had been weird.

I don't think I'd do it again.  It was definitely an experience, and I think I would recommend it to anyone who liked massages and who thought they could be comfortable in that sort of environment (Ann said later that she had enjoyed it, despite earlier misgivings).  My only criticism is that the whole place is in dire need of a face lift.  I don't know how long the Baths have been opened for, but the decor was very tired and if you looked closely you could find lots of little maintenance jobs that needed doing; paint peeling, carpets thinning, tiles missing and colours fading.  I went to a Spa in New York last year that was absolutely pristine; it's quite probably that the Ginseng Bath House is meeting all of the requirements of the Health Department for cleanliness and hygiene, but I couldn't help wondering why they didn't spend some money upgrading all the fixtures and fittings to make the place look fresh.  I would definitely have a Korean massage again, but I'll look around and see if I can have it done somewhere else.

(That said, there seemed to be a lot of Bathers who knew their way around, as though they had been many times before and were quite comfortable with the decor... could be I was spoiled by my New York spa experience.)

Two days later and my skin feels fantastic, my muscles are a little sore but in a good way, and the skin between my butt-cheeks has never been so soft and supple.  For $100 it was an interesting education - I learned how to get in and out of a swimming pool without flashing the people already in there; I learned that a very tiny percentage of Bathers spent the same amount of time as I did preparing their bikini lines for a public outing; and that honey, when mixed with oil and warm water, makes for a delicious and not at all sticky massage.  Oh, and that everyone's boobs, no matter how they look when a person is standing up, tend to disappear when that person is lying on their back - either because they're so small that they just flatten out, or so large that they fall off the sides and into the armpits.  Like mine do.

*** The Ginseng Korean Bath House is getting an extreme makeover and will reopen in April 2008! The whole Crest Hotel is being upgraded and reopening as 'The Chifley' and although the location of the building hasn't changed, they're now saying they're in Potts Point, and not Kings Cross.  Even though they're right near Kings Cross Station. 

I think this makeover  is worth mentioning because the decor was one of the key reasons I had decided I would rather floss my teeth than go back there.

Crude

  • .. in the natural or raw state; ill-digested, rough, unpolished, lacking finish (of action, statement, manners) rude, blunt... (The Concise Oxford, 7th ed.)

light. sweet. Twitter.

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