/A bit desperately lonely/ poor Sharron berated, having eaten Kim’s /last fat free fruche/ again, you didn’t know /please look at me/ Mrs D’s got /two words to say to you/ an ear to your soul searching a friends’ mum not a friend, Sharron since high school you’ve been stuck in the suburbs. now you’re streaming and under a haze of nostalgia I’m /breaking out the tia maria and the footy franks/ and raising them up to the best /second best friend/ a girl could have. it’s been three seasons of heartbreak. you walk through the sliding door, pash rash gleaming, only to fall to tears at the kitchen island because not even a Shane Warne cameo can find a way to make things work over the course of a 23 minute episode. maybe we, the audience, are led to believe your perfect man stands closer than the Day-Knights could ever know I don’t think its Bret you’re in love with, but I could just be the queer kid projecting, despite the river dance and netball skirts we’re all a bit desperately lonely