mischief, of one kind and another
July 5 
For as long as I can remember, I have enjoyed making mischief of one kind and another, upsetting the apple cart, placing a fly in the ointment.
It has been a curious pleasure, naughty and childish, where poking my tongue at, and poking a few holes in, the stout and sturdy fabric of a lampoonable institution has been decidely exhilarating.
The very first time I was filled with such a devilment was the summer of my eleventh year.
It had been a big year. My hair had grown long, I'd ditched Robin Rabbit for hipster jeans and smoked my first cigarette. Oh, how I marvelled at the way the smoke snaked and curled from my lips as I watched myself in the mirror through half closed movie star eyes, the taste of rebellion dirty on my tongue.
The same year had seen me polish off most of my Nan's Yalumba Cream Sherry while feigning illness to avoid going to church with the family; it's devilish delirium had coursed through my veins like liquid sin, until I threw it all up.
And yes, it was the year The Surge of Hormones began their devilish inhabitation of my little body, filling me with a peculiar agitation, tweaking, moulding, gently unfolding, and quietly, slyly ushering in The Minx.
She wore red, she smoked cigarettes, she tossed her hair and she danced with the devil.
She was the new me and I liked her.
So it was little wonder then that I was inspired to conjure a divine and deliciously subversive plan of attack on our parents' Christmas party. It was a yearly institution and it was always An Affair.
My brother and I were predictably pressed into service, strapped into our Sunday best and made to serve platters of hors d'oeuvre to guests who would indulge us with polite, thoroughly condescending conversation. It was a peculiar horror and one whose complexion would change for ever with the introduction of two unusual and inspired ingredients.
It is amazing what a well squirrelled cat biscuit and a tabasco pepper will do to a vol au vent. It is even more delirious to watch from the safety of the offered platter, the unfolding of crunchy disbelief followed by the excruciating repugnance of pure evil on the tongue. While most guests squirmed in sheer horror at the vileness of their discovery, smiling stiffly through the savaging of their mucous membranes, others left swiftly and without fuss for the bathroom. I remember only one "Holy FUCK!", but he was drunk and no one liked him.
It was a heady experience, peculiarly evil and insanely thrilling.
And it set a trend.
There was not a social event safe from my twitching fingers, my sneering wit and my subversive activity. By my final year of high-school I had honed my skills, sharpened my stiletto and, after tearing through one too many veils of the temple, promptly found myself expelled.
"Mrs Hilton, your daughter is a rebel and a mischief maker." sniffed Mother Superior. "She will find nothing but trouble with her attitude."
It was a delicious portent. What trouble I couldn't find, I made. Promptly wallowing in it.
I admit there is simply not the space to reveal the dubious details of each indiscretion of my sordid past, dear reader, but I can assure you that time has not diminished my instigation of devilry at each and every opportunity.
And while I revel in them, I have come to fear such minefields as company dinners, team meetings, group interaction, even yoga classes.
For I simply cannot help myself...
I am struggling to be serious.
The merest whiff of waffle, the slightest sniff of shit, is like waving a red flag at a bull. I can do naught but poke a hole in it, take the proverbial piss with it, compelled as I am to tear away the fabric of delusion and work a little mischief in it...
I have been tapped on the shoulder at one too many motivational company meetings where, when everyone else was kissing the arse, I have sniffed at the gratuitous serving of green KoolAid, the locking of all windows and doors and the pumping of motivational gas through the airconditioning. I have poked my tongue at Vice Presidents and their minions, blown a raspberry at authority figures and danced with the devil when I should have been wearing my blue suede shoes.
For I do love dancing, dear reader, even if it is with danger.
Why, if the whole world is a stage, then mine is Burlesque, and though my performance has at times cost me dearly, the show must go on!
I wave my burle, snap my wit and sharpen my pointy end on the arse of the pretentious.
Time has not dulled the blade.
It seems I am still the same naughty girl, impudent and cheeky, mischievous and insolent, poking my tongue and taking the micky as I romp and flirt my way through the Commedia dell'arte.
So, my friends, it might just be best to hide the Tabasco peppers, and the Yalumba Cream Sherry for that matter. For I feel like making mischief...
Hand me my burle, fluff up my feathers, turn up that music Maestro, and let's dance!
"If I can't dance, I don't want to be a part of the revolution."
Emma Goldman"
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Reader Comments (25)
I absolutely loved this post! I completely relate to your penchant for making mischief at corporate events in particular. Do you think it might be the way they use language that tickles your cheeky fancies? I had a summer job as a receptionist for the Council once, and I was obliged to take the minutes at a meeting about new safety barriers at the Aotea Centre in Auckland. The meeting was titled 'Safety From Falling' and the same phrase was printed over all the literature and even on the notepads. It sounded like a first book of fairly dreadful poems, to me. I couldn't keep a straight face.
I was supposed to be a lawyer, but alas, my inability to kiss inflated bottom did me in almost before I crossed the threshold of my first particle board cubicle.
Je ne regrette rien!
My darling Island Girl,
My last job, prematurely castrated due to reasons outlined above, was on an island absolutely seething with The Big Business and those that might lick, rub their noses in and generally inhabit their lower intestines. It was so outrageous, it was farcical. It was all I could do to contain myself from weeping with laughter in their faces on a daily basis.
When I am totally composed I will write a post on it. I'm sure everyone will think I am having a lend of them. It is too ludicrous for normal human comprehension.
At the aforementioned incident involving the KoolAid there were flashing screens located around the room with text beaming at us
"F%$#port is your family." "F%$#port cares for You."
What the hell!
All 200 of us had to chant this mantra together a little later and then come together in a group hug. I was barely restrainable by this stage! I had almost wet my pants by the time I was tapped on the shoulder and "asked to behave."
I was waiting for the green cordial to be distributed imminently, and yet everyone else seemed relatively undisturbed. I still can't believe it.
Yet that was only the beginning...
I do believe if you had been with me, dear Island Girl, we would have been kicked off the island immediately, which is eventually what happened to me.
It was inevitable...
You are a scream, you deliciously naughty girl!!!
I do wish you had been there...
xx
I adore this post, Minx! I was such a good girl growing up, almost never got into any trouble. sigh I do wish I'd known your 11-year-old self, I would have begged to be taken under your wing and am confident that my inner Bad Girl would have flourished! As it is, she feels the need to make up for lost time; the delicious devil is quickly overtaking the angelic side of me! I can't wait to see what she does next. wink
I knew we had too much in common. I knew there was a reason it was so easy to bond so quickly with you. I too love to create mischief, break rules, speak the unspoken, cause a stir, and ruffle feathers.
I love how this post makes what we do so well so damn glamorous. and I love YOU.
ps... Poppa Sye loved the kisses xxxxxx
it is a struggle to be serious all the time... afterall, we are responsible adults and mustn't behave in such a fashion. being bad feels so good sometimes. btw, "fly in the ointment"... i can relate so :)
for just an ounce of your spunk and mischief.....oh minx,, i do love you so!!!!!
Bad girls have all of the fun! Rock on with your bad ass self, Minxy.
Oh the trouble we will get into one of these days...
xoxo
Mistress M
Rapunzel darling,
I was a total nerd until the hormones kicked in.
I was, in fact, the living embodiment of a nerd.
With the hormones came the minx...
ahh, a blessed relief...
As for taking you under my wing - I would have done so with pleasure!! It would have been a little difficult as I was such a little dot, and still am..
It is never too late to embrace your Inner BadGirl, darling...
Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.
The dance begins!!
xx
Oh Meleah,
You sound so much like me, you could be my little sister!!
I take great pleasure in mocking foolery, adding a little spice where it is bland and poking a hole in the holier than thou.
It is sheer delight when one is there to share the quest!
No wonder we are kindred spirits!
xx
Raffi darling,
It is hard to be serious when others take themselves so, so, so..
One needs to prod them as a sort of wake up call.
My trusty burle, it has served me well..
I am deadly serious about the things that matter, love, friends, family, wine...
xx my little flyboy
Oh Paisley,
you have a wealth of it darling!!
You are the original Wild Thing.
That is why we love you so!
xx
My darling Mistress M for Mischief,
Let us take on the world together!!
Oh what fun we would have, dear friend...
I raise my feathers in anticipation!
With burle at the ready, of course!!
xoxo
"the dubious details of each indiscretion of my sordid past"
We wait with crunchy, cat food-baited breath for every last detail, Domestic Minx...
Fondest Wishes
Bill
Tabasco and Cat biscuits. Hilarious! So glad I wasn't invited to that party. :)
Swing those pasties Mamma!
And here's a case of cream sherry just for you.
I love your new backgrop, btw ;)
Missed you!
xoxo
I am all for mischief. But too much trouble-making, then I shall be forced to spank you.
Ahh, the details will be dubious my dear Bill,
and they will follow in good time...
accompanied by a cat food and tabasco pepper soaked breath, washed down with a slug of Yalumba Cream Sherry..
Ahhh, tasty...
the tales too!
xx
I can only thank my lucky star pasties that my boys were not quite as cruel to us, Michelle...
But we have not got off lightly - they have punished us in other ways.
The penchant for mischief appears to have been passed down through the DNA!
xx
Welcome back to my sexed up boudoir, dear Kitty!!
I was about to send out a search party for you darling, fearing you had falled victim to some of that infamous cream sherry or perhaps a glass of green KoolAid...
xx