SASSY TOWN FOLLIES by Felicty Appleton, no.17 April 29

Becoming A Mature Citizen Is Harder For Some Of Us

Regular STF readers will recall that Cosi, my mentor, confidante, gal pal and all-round bad influence has lived in Brisbane for over two years now. She looks like Sandra Bullock, by the way, but with bigger boobs. She frequently mentions this to men who have just been introduced to her, right after telling them that it’s fine if they forget her name: just “call me Sandra”, she says. Well, that’s what she used to say. She doesn’t do much of that any more, and she doesn’t do a lot of other things now either, because she is getting married.

I had thought that Cosi would be settling down. It made sense to me. Being all grown up and sensible and behaving like a mature adult. Behaving, in short like Cosima Franco ought to behave. Like her mother, who I still call Mrs. Franco, despite her demands that I use her name Clementine, thinks she behaves. My mum still often sends me over to the Franco house with posies of lavender, tied up with ribbon, just like I used to take over when Cosi and Heather and my sister Arabella were all at school together, and Mrs. Franco still buries her face in the lavender stalks while she sniffs them. She’s lovely. But she has no idea what her daughter is like.

Mrs. Franco thought Cosi was studying somewhere (at our place possibly) while she was actually getting to know the Frencham First XV intimately and helping them select their hard man of the year (it was a pun). Cosi was always popular among the boys. Her mum knew that, but she thought the young men had made her daughter’s acquaintance at the school dances Cosi always claimed to be attending.

It was better that Mrs. Franco didn’t know.

It was also better that Mrs. Franco never learned about the hotel room on the top floor of the Adelaide casino and the three pharmacists, in town for a conference, who were in the room with her daughter, and the room service they ordered. Amazingly, nobody complained about the noise and the hotel never charged extra for the damage to the room. Cosi claimed they were only making their own fun, and there was nothing else to do while you were staying in Adelaide, but that seemed a bit like an exaggeration to me.

I have seen Cosi discuss footy with old blokes in a pub over a beer, and I’ve seen her captivate a table of investment bankers in an exclusive club just by powdering her nose with the right amount of mystery. And I have seen her fail, completely, to amuse children, even when she was trying very hard to be like a fun aunty. She was once asked to look after Jonsey’s nephew Tristan, who was four, and allowed the child to wander around the office when he didn’t laugh at the dodgy limerick she told him, which she had been told the previous evening at Bacall’s. Tristan was about to walk straight out of the building, onto a busy road, when he was rescued. Thankfully Jonsey never found out.

But this sort of thing had ended, or so I thought. No more crazy, I thought. Cosi is happily coupled up with Brendan, who is a pilot. Cosi has become good. Well, kind of. But she gets out. About once a month she goes silly, when Brendan’s away, and that’s when she teaches her new apprentice, who is 19 and is named Caitlin, all she knows. Cosi has settled down, but she’s still bad.

Published in: on April 29, 2013 at 8:29 pm  Leave a Comment  

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