Heavenly Beverley : Good Morning, This Is My Armpit Calling You...

I have been most disappointed with myself lately. My recent posts have become far too serious for my liking. I was not put on this earth to whinge and moan exclusively. All that negativity was alright once in a while, but my woes took on a most unwelcome life of their own.

Yesterday just about did my head in. Having returned to the bosom of HBF after my flirt with the other health insurance mob, I then attempted to excise a refund from them so we could all Move On. This was to be my Last Hurrah with Bupa. What I hoped would be short and painless turned into another Phone Call from Hell. When I was finally transferred to Customer Relations, after fifty-nine minutes, I was told that my refund could not be expedited immediately as the Claims Department had all packed up their bats and balls and gone home. At 4.30pm Queensland time, 2.30pm Western Australian time.

Mentally exhausted after this latest setback, I was unable to concentrate or move for an hour. Eventually, I pulled myself together to vacuum and wash the floors. Any task more intellectual than those probably would have been the Last Straw.

Due to a total lack of motivation, Stella was not walked yesterday. At all. Hence she was the Life of the Party this morning, demanding our attention, leaping all over the bed in Gay Abandon, annoying the Fickle Fairweather Feline and indulging in Playtime with Pip. I blearily staggered to the loo, mobile in hand, to check the weather whilst on the throne. Having concluded my ablutions, I tucked my phone under my armpit so I could move the dog barricade that keeps Stella out of the kitty litter in the bathroom.

A dial tone began. That's odd, I mused. I was convinced that I was hearing the phone in Richard's workshop just across the laneway from us. What else could it be? Then, horrifyingly slowly, I realised that my armpit was buzzing and vibrating. My mobile was still firmly entrenched there and was calling my great friend Ailsa.

A split second later, I located the END button and hung up on Ailsa, rather than admit my armpit had rung her at 7.30 this morning. Then, ever so gradually, the hilarity of the situation dawned on me and I had once more returned to the Land of the Ridiculous.

When we all had landlines, armpits did not make phone calls. Now pockets and the bottom of handbags are notorious at ringing up friends or foes, around the corner or around the world. Throw SILENT into the mix and we often have absolutely no idea whom our bag, pocket, bum or armpit has dialled.

Best of all, I realised that Ailsa would have immediately recognised the insanity of an armpit phonecall. Having not spoken to her for far too long, I will dedicate the rest of this post to her, along with Tracey, Zelda, Brenda, Lesley and Meredith.

All these women are long term best buddies. However, Ailsa does hold a very special place in my heart. Back in 2010, when I finally convinced Michael to propose, we had two months to arrange the Budget Wedding of the Century. Ailsa, without any hesitation, swung into the role of our personal Wedding Planner.

She organised all the mutual girlfriends to buy me a frock for the day. She collected flowers, ribbons, a car boot load of ivy, paper lanterns, vases, ornamental pebbles, tablecloths and loaned me some pretty jewellery. She made me my bridal bouquet and gave me a tiara. She persuaded her daughter to take photos. Arriving the day before, Ailsa helped set up the marquee all afternoon. She videoed the whole occasion for posterity and interviewed other guests. I shall never forget the amiable Charl wishing us wine and love, wine and sex, wine and happiness, wine and adventures. Obviously, Charl knew us very well indeed.

We have seen Ailsa on and off over the years since we became a Beverley Hillbilly couple. Fortunately for me, she sees the humour in the most unlikely of situations and always joins me in an explosion of belly laughter. For example, Ailsa's two youngest daughters have had serious chronic illnesses. Visiting her home one day, I barged into the living room as Jasmin was concluding one of her spectacular choking episodes. She was as white as a sheet and her new carer/nurse was looking decidedly worried. My immediate response was "Jazzy, stop that at once. You are frightening everybody!" We all collapsed into laughter rather than unconsciousness. My job was done.

The idea of my armpit calling her would probably have her giggling along with me. I have now resolved that the time has come for Further Communication. Look out, Ailsa. I can feel a visit coming on!