1. Shiny
Happy
People
©
Wendy
Wardell
Since
becoming
single
some
five
years
ago,
I
couldn’t
help
but
notice
a
pattern
forming
in
my
romantic
attachments.
Within
a
few
weeks
of
entering
a
new
relationship,
the
seemingly
normal,
well-­‐balanced
object
of
my
affections
transitioned
into
an
ageing
Emo,
wracked
with
doubts,
unhappiness
and
more
baggage
than
a
Qantas
conveyor
belt.
While
friends
scoured
their
partners’
mobile
phones
for
evidence
of
infidelity,
I
just
surreptitiously
checked
boyfriends’
wallets
for
prescriptions.
By
the
time
the
third
successive
beau
had
hit
the
anti-­‐depressants,
I
started
to
take
it
personally
and
considered
asking
Pfizer
to
sponsor
my
internet
dating
subscription.
Luckily
I’m
less
plagued
by
paranoia
now
(as
long
as
I
keep
taking
the
tablets).
This
has
come
from
the
realisation
that
most
people
out
there
are
basically
pretty
jaded
by
life
and
are
hobbling
through
it
all
on
pharmaceutical
crutches.
But
my
contention
is
that
we’re
coming
at
this
from
the
wrong
angle.
Rather
than
try
to
make
people
happier
we
just
need
to
lower
their
expectations.
Quite
simply,
we’ve
raised
the
‘happiness
bar’
too
high.
Joy
could
once
be
found
merely
in
still
having
a
pulse
past
the
age
of
30.
Now
we
refuse
to
allow
ourselves
contentment
unless
we’ve
washed
the
dog,
earned
an
honorary
doctorate
and
climbed
the
north
face
of
Everest
by
Tuesday
afternoon.
Being
human
has
become
a
competition
sport
and
few
win
the
trophy
of
contentment.
Unrealistic
expectations
and
unattainable
goals
have
driven
us
to
rely
on
artificially
altering
our
brain
chemistry
to
deliver
our
‘happiness
fix’.
It’s
not
just
prescription
medications
either.
Illicit
drugs
are
no
longer
only
for
the
rich
and
famous.
Who
amongst
us
doesn’t
need
a
little
substance
abuse
just
to
get
through
the
ironing?
The
only
way
out
of
the
pharmaceutical
vortex
may
be
to
raise
future
generations
with
a
resilience
born
of
hardship
and
regular
crushing
disappointment.
Historically,
wars,
famine
and
the
liberal
democrats
have
all
proven
highly
effective.
Giving
kids
a
renewed
sense
of
the
overwhelming
injustice
of
life
requires
more
than
just
a
suggestion
that
they
switch
off
their
iPods
at
the
dinner
table.
Albert
Einstein
and
Winston
Churchill
were
both
told
they’d
never
amount
to
anything.
Giving
children
our
negative
reinforcement
will
tick
them
off
enough
to
try
and
prove
us
wrong
and
bring
them
joy
at
overcoming
their
conditioning.
We
can
be
content
that
our
work
here
is
done
even
if
they
hate
us
and
send
us
to
nursing
homes
in
Alice
Springs.
We’re
just
setting
future
generations
up
for
a
lifetime
of
discontent
by
encouraging
them
that
they
can
achieve
anything
they
want.
Remember,
for
every
physicist
building
a
Hadron
Collider,
there
are
thousands
of
people
asking
“Do
you
want
fries
with
that?”
We
must
establish
low
goals
that
are
easily
achievable.
The
Logies
are
a
fine
starting
point,
but
we
can
do
more.
I’m
thinking
degree
courses
in
colouring-­‐in
and
medals
for
sports
stars
who
don’t
get
arrested
every
second
Friday
night.
Let’s
strive
for
mediocrity
and
then
go
to
the
pub
when
we
can’t
be
bothered
to
finish
it.
There
lies
the
road
to
happiness.

2.
21st
Century
Break
Out
©
Wendy
Wardell
Rashes,
nausea
and
headaches
are
now
no
longer
just
the
signs
you’ve
had
a
good
night
out,
but
are
increasingly
symptomatic
of
our
body’s
reaction
to
the
things
we
eat
and
surround
ourselves
with.
Paranoia
is
the
new
normal
because
everything
really
is
out
to
get
us.
Allergies,
chemical
sensitivities
and
reality
TV
are
simply
nature’s
way
of
telling
us
we’ve
gone
too
far
and
need
to
reassess
our
lives.
The
problem
of
nut
allergies
in
schools
has
become
so
huge
that
Nobby
has
become
the
new
Bogeyman.
The
staff
room
at
my
daughter’s
primary
school
had
a
wall
of
enlarged
photos
of
the
kids
with
nut
allergies,
presumably
because
other
kids
were
faking
anaphylactic
shock
to
get
out
of
stacking
chairs
after
lunch.
At
high
schools,
authorities
search
bags
and
lockers
for
drugs,
weapons
and
jars
of
Nutella.
Certainly
in
my
former
career
as
a
conference
organiser
I
had
to
be
mindful
of
people’s
dietary
peccadilloes.
There
were
more
than
a
few
episodes
where
an
Irritable
Bowel
had
led
to
a
Crabby
Disposition.
I
had
a
particularly
bad
run
(no
pun
intended)
at
one
event
with
Gluten
Intolerant
guests
who
had
been
radicalised.
One
told
me
that
the
entire
buffet
dinner
should
be
gluten-­‐free
so
he
could
eat
everything.
I
felt
like
the
proverbial
soy
protein
in
the
Wuppa
bread
sandwich
trying
to
convince
the
chef
of
that
one.
From
that
point
on
I
was
very
wary
of
Allergy
Extremism
and
met
all
the
demands
of
the
Militant
Wing
of
the
Lactose
Intolerant
to
avoid
conference
budget
blow-­‐outs
on
toilet
paper.
Seafood
allergies
were
the
scariest.
It
would
have
been
a
sad
irony
to
survive
Death
by
PowerPoint
only
to
be
taken
out
by
a
rogue
prawn.
I
suspect
it’s
only
a
matter
of
time
before
waitresses
refuse
service
of
satay
sticks
to
those
who
haven’t
signed
waivers
and
ambulance-­‐chasing
lawyers
hand
leaflets
to
patrons
entering
seafood
restaurants.
Eventually,
all
foods
with
allergenic
reputations
will
be
driven
underground
and
we
will
end
up
with
Cheese
Sanger
Speakeasies.
Sweet
‘n
sour
pork
will
become
the
Fugu
fish
of
tomorrow
for
a
generation
with
msg
sensitivity.
Even
Ladies
of
the
Night
will
be
armed
with
epi-­‐pens
in
case
the
moment
of
‘le
petit
mort’
threatens
to
become
a
much
bigger
mort
thanks
to
an
undeclared
rubber
allergy.
In
Australia
we
have
seen
cases
in
recent
years
where
people
have
seemingly
become
allergic
to
everything
synonymous
with
the
21st
century
and
it’s
predicted
that
this
will
affect
NZ
within
only
a
few
hundred
years.
Sufferers
of
these
extreme
allergic
reactions
experience
a
very
poor
quality
of
life,
confined
to
living
in
a
sterile
bubble
or
the
National
Party
Policy
Development
Office.
Many
possible
causes
for
this
have
been
proposed,
from
a
trigger-­‐
happy
immune
system
to
environmental
pollutants.
I
personally
like
the
theory
that
the
explosion
in
allergies
can
be
alleviated
by
a
less
slavish
addiction
to
wiping
out
bacteria.
Admittedly,
this
is
mainly
because
it
suits
my
own
approach
to
the
art
of
housework
which
can
loosely
be
described
as
belonging
to
the
Martha
Stewart
School,
in
her
State
Penitentiary
period.
In
fact
I’m
developing
a
whole
new
range
of
products
to
meet
the
demand
for
less
effective
cleaning.
These
will
have
the
additional
benefit
of
being
environmentally
friendly,
in
large
part
due
to
their
being
pretty
much
useless.
I
think
you’ll
agree
that
the
Home-­‐eopathic
range
ticks
all
the
boxes,
being
basically
a
thimble-­‐full
of
detergent
diluted
in
a
swimming
pool
of
water.
It
will
be
guaranteed
not
to
irritate
skin
or
to
even
mildly
annoy
germs.
Bacteria
will
be
laughing
all
the
way
to
the
bloodstream.
Clearly,
having
very
little
content,
most
of
the
budget
will
be
spent
on
clever
marketing
so
the
public
will
embrace
it.
Safe
to
say,
I
think
they’ll
be
all
over
it
like
a
rash.

3.
It’s
all
done
with
mirrors
©
Wendy
Wardell
The
Wicked
Queen
was
going
through
a
rough
patch.
She
had
reached
that
special
stage
of
life
where
she
was
more
inclined
to
take
evening
classes
in
Pottery
than
Advanced
Magical
Potions
and
her
internal
thermostat
was
creating
its
own
‘hubble
bubble’.
On
the
upside,
the
evil
cackle
was
coming
along
a
treat,
although
the
effect
was
often
diluted
by
bursting
into
tears
at
the
end.
The
Magic
Mirror
knew
it
was
on
a
sticky
wicket.
Any
day
now
the
Wicked
Queen
was
going
to
ask
it
if
she
was
still
hotter
than
young
Snow
White
and
then
it
would
quickly
find
itself
joining
the
empty
gin
bottles
at
the
bottom
of
the
recycling
bin.
Fortunately,
being
an
Internet-­‐enabled
magic
mirror,
it
was
able
to
browse
the
latest
offerings
from
New
Idea
during
downtime.
If
only
the
old
hag
would
ask
something
sensible
like
“Mirror
Mirror
on
the
frescoed
ceiling,
do
I
need
dermabrasion
or
glycolic
peeling?”
it
thought
to
itself.
Alas,
it
wasn’t
to
be
and
the
day
came
when
the
Wicked
Queen
posed
her
question
to
a
Magic
Mirror
that,
had
it
got
feet,
would
have
been
shuffling
them.
“Mirror,
mirror
on
the
wall,
The
sands
of
time
I’ve
tried
to
stall
I’ve
bought
lotions
for
lines,
stuff
for
my
thighs
Fillers
for
wrinkles
and
lifts
for
my
eyes
Tell
me
pseudo-­‐science
and
marketing
might
Beats
the
pants
off
the
beauty
and
youth
of
Snow
White.”
The
response
was
swift
and
brutally
honest.
“Let’s
get
real,
you’re
54.
Your
skin’s
ageing
is
not
premature
The
kid’s
young
and
fresh
and
quite
a
cutie
You
got
cellulite
where
she
got
booty”
Naturally,
the
Wicked
Queen
smashed
the
mirror
into
a
thousand
tiny
pieces,
ate
three
packets
of
Tim
Tams,
had
a
good
cry
and
then
went
shopping.
By
the
time
she
came
back
she
had
a
plan
and
carefully
extracted
from
behind
the
teabags
a
small
glass
vial
labelled
‘Menopause
Accelerant’.
Downing
the
potion
quickly
with
her
breakfast
sweet
sherry,
she
felt
the
familiar
warmth
radiate
through
her
system.
The
warts
blossomed
on
her
face
and
her
chin
became
astro-­‐
turfed
with
whiskers.
The
elegant
gown
transformed
itself
into
the
ragged
polyester
tracksuit
of
an
old
crone.
Unfortunately
she
hadn’t
worn
it
for
a
fortnight
and
had
stacked
on
5
kilos
in
the
interim,
so
the
fit
was
a
bit
snug.
Making
a
mental
note
to
check
out
Witchery
for
this
season’s
must-­‐have
black
hag’s
rags
accessorised
with
real
live
fluffy
slippers,
she
re-­‐
read
her
to-­‐do
list
for
the
10th
time
that
morning.
Her
memory
had
been
somewhat
haphazard
of
late,
resulting
in
a
number
of
princes
startled
to
find
themselves
turned
into
armadillos
when
they
might
normally
have
expected
a
long
stretch
on
a
lily
pad.
“Ah
yes”
she
hissed
“Kill
Snow
White
–
or
at
least
create
unattainable
images
of
beauty
that
will
make
her
doubt
her
self-­‐worth.”

4. Snow
White
of
course
never
set
foot
outdoors
without
first
basting
herself
in
factor
30
sunscreen.
‘Snow
Lightly
Bronzed’
just
wouldn’t
cut
it
with
the
PR
team.
Not
that
she
got
out
much
anymore
anyway.
Living
in
ménage
à
huit
with
the
Seven
Dwarves
of
Dermatology
certainly
kept
a
girl
busy.
There
was
Itchy,
Scaly,
Flaky,
Scabby,
Rashy,
Oozy
and
Colin.
One
of
them
was
adopted
but
Snow
White
was
never
sure
which
one,
although
she
had
her
suspicions
about
Scabby.
Every
day
the
dwarves
laboured
in
a
secret
underground
office
producing
made-­‐up
names
for
mythical
chemical
compounds.
Working
in
cahoots
with
evil
marketing
trolls,
they
sold
these
to
the
skin-­‐care
industry.
After
they
left
for
work
early
one
morning
humming
“Retinol,
retinol,
it’s
off
to
work
we
go...”
Snow
White
started
her
morning
routine
of
checking
the
sofa
for
loose
change
to
feed
her
Botox
habit.
Suddenly
there
was
a
knock
and
she
opened
the
door
to
find
a
stooped
old
crone
on
the
front
step.
Recovering
from
her
sudden
bloat
attack,
the
disguised
Wicked
Queen
stood
upright,
apologised,
and
drew
a
tempting
morsel
from
the
basket
she
carried.
Expecting
to
be
offered
something
cruciferous
containing
benzyl
isothiocyanate
and
phytochemicals,
Snow
White
was
startled
at
the
sight
of
a
shiny
brown
Krispy
Kreme
doughnut.
Unable
to
contain
herself,
she
fell
upon
the
deadly
delicacy
and
absolutely
stuffed
her
face.
By
the
time
she
had
finished,
the
acne
was
breaking
out
and
the
urge
to
buy
a
bucket
of
KFC
almost
overwhelming.
“My
work
here
is
done”
cackled
Wicked
Queen
Fergie
as
she
walked
away
“Your
fairy
tale
is
over,
Snow
White
Kate
Middleton.”