Loohooozer . . .

I figure the probability of me winning something substantial increases with every failed competition, bet or entry form. Yep, today's the day they race the Melbourne Cup. The race that stops a nation. Two miles of pumping horseflesh, grandios marquees, drunken soirees in the carpark and of course the office sweep.

Once upon a time when I was a yummy mummy it used to be a great excuse to glam up, a new dress, some new heels and a hat and usually involved some bloke driving a shipload of giggly women home after a long, long, long lunch.

These days, it's a break in the working day and the chance to win the company sweep! It's also the one day I actually bet on anything other than a $2 scratchie, that is if you can call a $5, $2, and $1 splurge a bet. Steady now . . not big maybe but I'm only 15 years off getting the pension . . .

So all went well. I came to work (yes we Sydneysiders have to work on this auspicious day unlike our Melbournian counterparts) armed with a barage of silly hats from rastafarian dreadlocks to kitten ears which looked very pretty on EarthMother I might add and my favourite Nepalese export. Not quite the 'fascinator' you're probably used to. SwansGirl did the sweep since I'm no longer trusted after cleaning up in 2003 (these people take a long time to forget). Bought horses for ClareBear and DrummerBoy and myself of course. Went shopping with Receptionist and put on a pretty sumptuous spread not to mention plenty of beer and champers. Even the TV reception was OK.

The result, nothin'. Not a cracker. $23 worse off and the girl that ran the sweep cleaned up. Poor DrummerBoy got dumped by his woosy mates, bought a pizza and had a beer on his lonesome. ClareBare braved the RSL club with the girly swats . . . not expecting her home any time soon . . . I was left with no profit and half a bottle of cheap champers to drown my sorrows. Oh lament . . I should be at the Cup, dressed in black and white with a big hat that flops over my right ear and sipping Lanson or Verve Cliquot. I was soooooo . . . born in the wrong family.

Ah well the Libran psyche always sees the other side of the story. I figure such a loss increases the probability of me winning next year or even something else. Then again, maybe I'm just a 'looo-hooo-zer'. At least I won't end up in the glue factory like the drop kick nag I drew . . .Torkeet . . . I hope you're a stallion for your sake or your days are seriously numbered.