OFFSPRING. AN OBSESSION
OK… for the record.
Peta Mayer, Melbourne writer and academic, is a little bit obsessed with Offspring and explains her fascination with this: “Because of its conventional structure and plotlines, Offspring is a great vehicle for discussing gender stereotypes and social hypocrises.”
We reckon she’s pretending that the show is research while she sobs and laughs into a bucket of wine.
Beautiful people suffer too… Nina and Patrick.
She loves Offspring’s writer Debra Oswald so much, that she imagines they’re BFFs.
And, she’s got a few questions to ask…
(Offspring nuts may be able to decipher this. I confess to being a bit lost. – Ed)
Remember when we had it all?
I’d get home from work and start drinking. You’d drop in with some takeaway and tell me I was looking so much better.
The kids were safely online and while I lay on the couch, primed for a foot rub, you’d fill me in on Nina’s latest escapades.
Then a curious thing happened.
The stories grew darker and the foot rubs more sporadic.
A sultry new anaesthetist surfaced at St Francis: a man muted by his past.
He presented as an abusive husband, but he turned out to be a protective brother. Not an addict – a survivor. And if he was not exactly a rhetorician, Patrick still boasted a chest the likes of which could cushion any overactive mind.
Yet the more innocent he was revealed to be, the more guilt Nina wore, and the more clothes she borrowed from Billie. Apologies showered the new relationship like confetti.
After which: The Honeymoon.
I’ve heard that old habits die in 28 days. Yet there was Patrick, a mere five episodes into the new season, and falsely accused again!
They say that beautiful people suffer too – just witness poor Patrick retreating to an inner-city motel to do push-ups.
Another apology quivers on Nina’s lips; I want to reach out and turn it into Blistex.
“Save the sorry,” I whisper. “For when you can’t eat any more soup.”
Dear Debra, please tell me: why is Nina always so sorry?
If my house burnt down; if my father turned out to be Garry McDonald and not John Waters; if my sister spent her days on Skype while her husband romanced Clare Bowditch; and if my brother prepared for fatherhood by weaving a cock harness, I could be forgiven, surely, for feeling just a little… overwhelmed?
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