She found something unexpectedly large and hairy

‘Cut!’ screamed a man. ‘Cut! Cut! Cut! Cut! CUT!!’

The earth moved; more a rumble, really.

Wow, wondered Donnie. Was that me?

Donnie opened his eyes and toppled backwards off of the shoulders of the young lady he had so improbably been sitting on.

‘Gosh,’ she said, turning and rushing to his aid. ‘Are you all right? I said to hang on tight. The earth moved and you just fell off…’

Donnie twisted himself off the couch while cursing multi-lingually. He stood unsteadily and was verbally accosted by a youngish man in drag.

‘What are you doing,’ screamed the drag queen.

Donnie took a step backwards.

‘Whoa,’ he murmured, raising his arms into a vaguely defensive posture.

‘Well?!’

Donnie glanced around himself and said the first thing that came to mind. ‘No idea.’

He wore a rather tasteful example of existentialist angst; on top, a black turtleneck sweater which was complemented by straight pants on the lower-half of his body. These had a slight flare which almost – but not quite – covered a pair of elastic-sided cuban heels, in black of course.

The man slapped his forehead with the open palm of his right hand, leaving an angry red mark through the caked-on makeup.

‘I told you the Korma position! Korma! Not Dahl, not Roti, KORMA!’

He spun on his stiletto and stormed off in a theatrical huff.

Just like a drag queen to exaggerate things, thought Donnie; to even have a crack at a Korma he’d need three bibs and a fire-engine standing-by.

Oh well, he thought and sat down on the slightly dented couch, glancing up and smiled at a harassed young lady that rushed up in the drag-queen’s wake. She was clearly an assistant-type. Donnie could tell this was the case because of the tweed jacket, long skirt, sensible shoes and the fact she was wearing a baseball hat with the word ‘Assistant’ printed on it in large yellow letters. The hat was blue, which formed a nice contrast for the letters of the word and an amusing pun if you understood what was actually going on.

As she opened her mouth to speak, there came a roar of pain from across the room.

Donnie and the Assistant’s attention jerked upwards to the source of the sound, their eyes fixing upon a large prehensile man with more hair on his body than the average Gibbon who was gasping and yelling in pain.

© Lisa Sinclair 2004-2009 All Rights Reserved

The Grand Adventures of Daisy Donnie by Lisa Jane Sinclair is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 Australia License.
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