Things learned so far during 2006

Gum nuts wash surprisingly well when hidden in the pocket of a pair of culottes, but gum leaves are a different matter altogether

Fake tan looks fake.

Even when they’re untouched, the human ankle somehow soaks up fake tan, and remains a fluoro-orange colour for weeks and weeks.

Dogs don’t like natural yoghurt. Or baked beans. Stale bread rolls are objects to bury in a deep hole, not chew.

A pale bathroom floor attracts more pubic hair and lint than the entire household could produce if on Olympic doses of steroids (which we’re not).

Peasant skirts may cover up one’s fat white legs, but have an unfortunate tendency to blow up and over one’s head on windy days, thus revealing far uglier things than legs.

Never ever drink a Farmers Union Feel Good Iced Coffee if it’s even one second beyond the use-by date. Unless you actually prefer your teeth without enamel.

According to our six year old, blue Slush Puppies are the sixth food group.

Having lovely long nails is a let down. People complain of being scratched when you only mean to touch them and yucky gunk collects underneath them (the nails, not the scratchee).

Crockery sets are always sold in odd numbers at second-hand shops – threes, fives, sevens.

Channel Nine are a bunch of heartless stinky bottom burps for not televising the latest series of Survivor.

Dog poo out-sticks chewing gum and super glue when it comes to scraping it out from the bottom of a sneaker.

Sandpits contain invisible magnetic properties for any person under the age of seven, especially when wearing a clean school uniform or their best clothes.

No matter how they are talked up by the chef or presented, sausages for dinner are still utter crap.

Even when I’m dying to blob out on the lounge and stare at the box, so far this year I’ve scanned the TV guide and not seen one thing I’d be prepared to watch.

One white tissue, inadvertently included in a dark washing load, has the ability to spread itself to at least 30 times its original size when distributing its white waste over woolly socks, polar fleece and my nice black tops.

Dog farts don’t blast out the windows; six year old kids’ do.

Here in Oz, divorcing a celebrity not only gives you more money but also guarantees fame, a slot on ‘Dancing with the Stars’, undeserved advertising work and a magazine column. Having talent, a secure love life and intelligence does not.

Kids still love being taught how to finger knit and make Anzac biscuits.

The nicest smell is that of your own home, when you’ve just opened the door. Unless you’ve just burnt the toast or let loose a ripe gut gurgler that is.

Your six year old can beat you three times out of four playing Uno.

This same child can out-read every other child her age in school but still cries when she drops her ice block onto the ground.

Your love is strongest when the six year old is fast asleep, unmoving and completely silent.

Your love for your husband is strongest when he is holding you, massaging your migraine-racked temples and offering to empty your sick bucket.