Antipodean Daria

Author: Deref

Category: Miscellaneous

Synopsis: Daria in Australia

Rating: G

"Oh no. Not bloody lobster again!"

"Bugger it, Daria. If you hadn't filled up on fois gras half an hour ago you wouldn't flamin' well complain." Helen took off her apron and hung it up on the hook behind the pantry door.

"But we always have bloody lobster. Couldn't we just throw a shrimp on the barbie for a change?"

"Look - I try try to give you some variety. Last night it was lobster newburg, tonight we're having lobster thermidor. Do you have any flamin' idea how hard it is to make lobster thermidor? Stop bloody complaining."

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry." Daria toyed with a truffle.

Quinn spun round and ran over to the window. "Dad - the kangaroo's back."

"Bloody kangaroos! Where's me shotgun?" Jake jumped up from the table, grabbed his best hat - the one with the corks hanging from the brim by strings - and ran out the door. "Shoo! Bugger off, you!"

"Jake - stop carrying on like a pork chop. Your champagne's going flat." called Helen.

Jake stomped back in, threw the hat down on a chair and resumed his place at the table. "Bloody kangaroos."

There was a knock at the door. "I'll get it." Daria jumped up, grateful for a moment's respite.

"G'day, Love. I'm Steve Irwin. You haven't seen a crocodile around have you? Bloody thing got off its lead on the way to a publicity shoot fer me latest film. Mmm - that smells like lobster!"

"Wow - Steve Irwin!" Jake jumped up and shook the visitor by the hand. "Jake Morgendorffer - this is the trouble and strife, Helen, and the kids, Daria and Quinn."

"G'day - pleased to meetcha."

"G'day, Steve." they chorused.

"Bollinger, Steve?" asked Jake, picking up a crystal flute from the table and pouring a glass before he could reply.

"Well, I should be off after that croc, but yeah - why not? Ta." He drained the glass. "Crikey - that's not a bad drop."

"Lobster, Steve?" asked Helen. "There's plenty!"

"Well, if you're sure...thermidor, eh?"

"Bloody thermidor again." muttered Daria.

"Daria! Don't be rude. We have company." Helen scooped up a couple of lobsters from the platter as Steve sat down. "Truffle salad, Steve?"

"My oath, ta Helen. I'm partial to a nice bit of truffle salad."

"You wouldn't be if you had it every night." muttered Quinn.

"What's up kids?" the tall blonde man asked as he sat down.

"It's just so bloody boring. Lobster, truffles, fois gras, fillet steak, same old thing, day in day out."

"Yeah. I know - it can get on yer wick a bit. But I was down at the supermarket the other day, and you know what I saw?" Steve was clearly excited.

"No - what?" asked Daria and Quinn together.

"They had these big aluminium trays in the freezer full of this yellowy browny sorta stuff. Lasagna they called it. All ya have to do is take it out of the tray, stick it in the microwave and Bob's your uncle. I tried some. Crikey - it was bonza!"

Daria and Quinn's eyes sparkled. "Mom, Dad, can we try some?"

"Hmm. Lasagna you say, Steve?"

"My oath, Helen."

"Okay, kids. We'll try some tomorrow. Now shut up and eat your lobster before it gets cold."

"Steve - is that your crocodile?" asked Quinn, looking at the 20 foot croc chasing the kangaroo across the front yard.

"Crickey - thanks!" Steve jumped up and ran out the door.

"What a nice bloke!" exclaimed Jake.

That night, visions of lasagna danced in their heads.

This is all Roger E. Moore's fault.

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