Sometime in the early millennium, and before my mojo showed signs of extinguishing, I found myself at Mt. Hotham alpine resort for the opening of the ski season (yes, we do get snow downunder).
The locals declared the abundance of snow was a good start to the season - though some (like me) may have argued that it was too much, as there was consequently a perilous amount of black ice on the roads.
One night a small group of us went out for dinner to celebrate the Queen's birthday (as that's the official holiday weekend that marks the beginning of the season, even though it's nowhere near Her Majesty's real birthday, nor were we really celebrating it).
After a fabulous meal and a few Jägermeister digestives, I started to relax and - let's face it - got a little tipsy.
There was a live band playing, which stirred my inner rock star. Before I knew it, I had made my way from the dance floor onto the stage and was rocking, tambourine in hand, with the lead singer. Reports state that I robbed him of said instrument, but did such a good job at entertaining the audience (and band members) that I earned my place on stage.
I was shaking my booty, slapping it hard with the stolen goods. I sensed a growing feeling discomfort (from the self-imposed tambourine spanking, not from the theft or playing in front of a full house of unsuspecting groovers) so I turned the other cheek (haha).
Surprisingly, the tambourine grew heavier to the point that it felt like I was shaking an antique coal iron weighing 25kg (55 pounds). I switched from hand to hand, attempting to make it lighter by briefly resting in a cleverly disguised clap'n'shuffle motion.
At the end of the night I felt my biceps were the size of the Incredible Hulk's, and my face was probably a similar colour. I was escorted home by my husband (then boyfriend) - but sadly his usual lightening-fast reflexes were not lightening fast enough to save me from what followed...
The moment I stepped outside I was smacked in the face by the iced cold air, and thumped in the back of the head by an ice cold pavement - I'd slipped on black ice, and came crashing down with a thud. Ouch.
The next morning I woke up with a pounding headache, though couldn't distinguish whether it was from the black ice incident or the Jägermeister.
I headed for the shower and when I gripped the door handle, I winced with pain. I looked at my hands and they were blackened with bruises (whoever knew your hands could bruise...???). I inspected my body for further damage and discovered I had matching bruises on both hips and butt cheeks - I looked like I had been wrestling with a rhinoceros.
From that moment on, I had a new found respect for tambourines and those who play them... not to mention equal respect for black ice and Jägermeister.
Until tomorrow, may you rock the star within - minus the bruising.
ps. I Googled tambourine images and came across this fabulous comic artist Natalie Dee (see pic). Please check out her website and have a chuckle, very quirky.