The Worm Turns

“Jesus babes!” said Chris as he picked up the Sunday paper and saw what Caro had written.

Rebecca rolled over in bed and saw her Chris standing there, his usually vacant face wrinkled into a mask of confusion and despair.

“What is it Chris,” she asked?

It was Chris’ habit to run downstairs as soon as he heard the papers hit the front door and rear through them looking for mentions of himself in the paper. It always broke her heart to see him start at the front and then go through the business section before ending up at the sport pages.

“I can’t believe it babes,” he moan, “I sent that press release about my idea for a wave powered perpetual motion machine to ALL the journos and not one of them picked it up, I can’t believe it.”

But today it was the back page he was holding, and pointing at frantically.

“Look,” he said, tears welling up in his big dog like eyes, “It’s that bloody Caro! She’s turned on me!”

Rebecca took the pages from his hands and read:

This journalitht ith known and wethpected for her integwity and wefuthal to be influenthed by otherth.

Tho it ith in thith light that I wite the fowwowing.

Carlton’th captain is a big thtinking pile of monkey thit and I’ve alwayth said it and anyone who thayth I haven’t is a sexistht wathist.

Hith behaviour of wate hath been nothing thort of diswaceful and I for one think that he thould be kicked out of footy forever and made to work in a thalt mine to waise money for the orphanth of Haiti.

Jesus though Rebecca to herself, the old bag has really gone on one here. Could it be any coincidence that she’d suddenly turned on Chris since he’d popped the question and put a ring on her finger? Or was that reading too much into it?

Surely a journalist of Caro’s standing wouldn’t conduct a hate filled vendetta against and individual or club simply because of something that had happened in her personal life? That would be unprofessional to the point of actionable by the Press Complaints Commission.

But then, Rebecca sighed to herself, this was Caro.

She got up and went into the bathroom where Chris was sobbing in front of the mirror.

“Why,” he cried “WHY? WHY DO BAD THINGS ONLY EVER HAPPEN TO GOOD PEOPLE?”

“Come on babes” she said, “It’ll be alright, I’ve got a PR strategy that will put this old hag back in her box.”

Given her extensive media career presenting the weather on a regional TV station and having her photo taken at the races, Rebecca fancied herself as an arch media manipulator.

“You know that Wombats benefit gig that’s on tonight? We’re going, and you’re donating some money!”