A Bob, Two Robs, Some Sobs (Yarra Valley, Australia)

Yesterday Rob slammed hard on the brakes when none of us was buckled. Some of us lived and the rest didn’t die, but there was this one fella wearing a possum-wool sweater who flew forward and onto the floor.

So today we were buckled as we made our way out of Melbourne into the Yarra Valley wine region. While Spud chatted with driver Rob about malolactic fermentation, Goat and I had questions of consequence:

Rob:

Here the grapes have skin akin to blackberries.

Goat:

Do kangaroos like blackberries?

Me:

When we see the blackberry-like-grape-eating kangaroo, is he likely to be alone?

I suspect Rob grew tired of the kangaroo questioning, so he turned the questions on us, asking what we each did for work. When it was time for Sweet Pea to present, she said, “I’m a back-office bitch.”

“A BOB?” we all said in unison.

And that is the story about how Sweet Pea became Bob.

We started around 10:00 a.m. meeting Danny at the Yarra Yering winery. On the ride up the narrow dirt road, we saw a kangaroo crossing sign. I felt hopeful.

The second stop was a winery called Medhurst. The host here was another Rob. As we wound our way out of this large estate, we saw large art sculptures but certainly no kangaroos.

We stopped for lunch and more wine at Boat O’Craigo (and tasted more wine):

At Oakridge, our last stop around 4:00 p.m., the wine host said, “The kangaroos were just here,” which made me hate her. I told Goat. Goat had a cuss-word explosion. Then I looked at The Husband and started to cry. It’s just that we were so close.

This is common. The same thing has happened to me when I couldn’t find bears at Yellowstone or whales in the Pacific Northwest. Once, when The Husband saw a bear and I didn’t, I curled into a fetal position and sobbed.

So at Oakridge, knowing I’d just missed the kangaroos, I skulked outside. Bob, Rob, and Goat followed.

Then we saw two kangaroos. And I cried a different kind of tears.