Moolabia is how you spell Mooloolaba if you are typing too fast when you’re messaging your husband whilst talking on the phone. I shall of course never been allowed to forget my error which brings about unfortunate mental images of a cow’s nether regions, so for now and always, the glorious holiday destination on Queensland’s Sunshine Coast will be known to my family as Moolabia.
Moolabia was in all its glory last week. Stop thinking of cow’s bits. The sun shone the entire time, and the daytime temperature sat at around 23 degrees. We swam in the indoor pool, and the boys even had a crack stop thinking about cow’s bits in the outdoor pool. We didn’t swim in the ocean, but spent hours playing in the rock pools and digging in the sand, the winter sun warm on our backs, and our pasty white skin lighting the way for passing ships.
As I mentioned in my previous post, I was somewhat anxious about going to Moolabia, because the previous time we’d been there, I was in the middle of chemo and all my hair fell out and I wasn’t allowed to swim or go in the sun or have a cocktail or a massage or pretty much do anything any normal person would do on a beach holiday, because cancer had fucked me over well and truly eeuuww stop thinking about cow’s bits. But pretty much as soon as we got there I felt the weight shift, as I let that particular piece of baggage float out to sea.
We ate some glorious food, went to Aussie World (highly recommended), and spent inordinate amounts of time playing air hockey and pinball. We reset ourselves before the start of a new term of school for Hugh and the start of a brand new career for Dave. And I remembered that cancer doesn’t own me, or Moolabia. The only thing cancer owns is my right breast, which was unceremoniously dumped in the hospital waste two years and nine months ago. Everything else is mine.
As well as having beautiful beaches, Moolabia has some fabulous shops, and given that it was mid-year sale time, I was in my element. I got some bargains, including a gorgeous grey top with a digital print of an orchid on the front. It was only when I tried it on to show Dave later that night, that it became apparent that I’d unwittingly purchased myself a wearable Moolabia souvenir.
It really doesn’t bear thinking about what sort of subliminal souvenir I’d purchase if we ever holiday in Cockburn.