Our family has a long history of a practice known as " pissing in your pocket. " Before you get all in a tizz, it is not what it seems. It ultimately means to deliver praise in a rather over-the-top manner.
First things first, no, we Aussies aren't advocating for peculiar methods of personal irrigation. Instead, this idiom is all about telling someone how bloody marvellous they are and praising them for a job well done.
If someone says that you are pissing their pocket, it means that you are exaggerating, but it is well received.
Our family actually and actively piss in each other's pockets as a form of compliment and praise. In fact, up until recent years, pissing in each other's pockets was widely practiced by most Australian families. It is to compliment and praise on steroids.
We pile it on and lap up every single moment of the adoration that is being bestowed upon us.
Let's face it. It makes us feel good.
As little children, we love getting a star on our homework or a stamp on our lovely little hand. Our chubby little legs would trot into the kitchen to be greeted by our mother and we would proudly extend our star or stamp and we would be told " Well done! "
Our little hearts would swell with pride.
The next day, at school, we would try harder.
I have often wondered what would happen if all we got was praise and we had never been pulled up for our shortcomings. Perhaps the praise would seem empty and somehow diminished in value?
But, back to the point of my meanderings today, pissing in your pocket only works if it is dished out when it is deserved.
As a member of the hardcore PIPB ( Pissing in Pockets Brigade) you don't get it if you don't earn it.
Only hard-core soldiers meet the brief.
Once you belong to the hallowed group, then you will receive praise aplenty.
You see, praise and accolades are earned, not through participation medals.
In my family, you don't get a star for turning up at a family gathering. You don't get a stamp on your hand for having simply been a member of the family.
You bloody EARN it.
To belong to the Piss in Your Pocket Brigade, you have to have survived the test of time, hard work and loyalty. And it isn't easy. Many have fallen by the wayside over the years. Some come back to the fold. Others do not.
I am probably an older General in the Brigade of our family. Redhead is the Major General. My late father was the Supreme Commander.
My daughter will, no doubt, become the new Leader when Redhead and I have buggered off to piss in pockets far removed from this realm.
Her troops will change. Of course.
But I believe that she has been trained well and that the Pissing in the Pocket Brigade will stand the test of time.
Or? Like so many brigades, battalions and armies, fall into the dust of history and be rewritten as some sort of woke series where history will record that we white colonists and migrants were people who urinated in kangaroo pouches and aboriginals built renewable energy farms and dined on Maccas. voted for a lady named Pauline. In short, they will distort history and tell lies....
These days, I suspect that Maccas has tuned into Mecca.
Who knows? The world has become a bit strange these days.
The one thing I love about pissing in your pocket is the story of my daughter, the shy side of 50, who has just completed her PhD. How I wish I could put up the video of her in her Wonder Woman top.
And, yes, she is drop-dead GORGEOUS. And, yes, she is a Granma.
When she was 4 years old, she decided that Wonderwoman ( played by Linda Carter ) was the most amazing human being in the world, even more amazing than me and her Granma because she had the outfit.
I wore normal clothes but Wonder Woman? Now, she could wear the gear.
As my daughter's 5th birthday approached, I managed to find a seamstress who would stitch that Wonder Woman costume for my dear girl. And stitch she did.
So I was quite delighted to see MY GIRL, wearing a Wonder Woman shirt in her practice run for her PhD graduation. I hope she wears it for the real deal. Because she is the real deal.
In fact, to me, she is a Wonder Woman.
She worked her way through university while working as a bush nurse in western Queensland. She got married, had three children, got a degree and worked full time. My Wonder Woman daughter swooshed and worked,. drove bush ambulances, worked with the Flying Doctor, helped old buggers avoid cardiac arrest after playing outback footy; gently guided dementia escapees from hospital back to safety; tap danced around wards and always delivered a smile.
She is one of the most caring people I have ever met.
She is a Wonder Woman. Unlike so many today.
Yet, strangely enough, despite her success, she pisses in our pockets and says that Redhead and I were the Wonder Women who inspired her. And all she did was follow in our path.
I think I would give her a star and a stamp for that.
Pissing in our pockets?
Full marks.
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