”“I’m not nungungi.”“Nungungi dad’s nungungi.”I had clearly lost the argument. I appealed to my hostess.“Not a chance,” she said. �...Better give in graciously.”So I did. Underwear, shirts, pants, socks. It was a decent-sized bundle.Lunch was fried chops and bread. In the afternoon I tried to work out where the aborigine camp was. It was near the Oonagie Sandhill about 200 kilometres from the Station. I could see it taking three days to get there on foot. The Outback guide said just over nine. Yes, I heard her, but my brainwasn't really processing the question. I was still staring at my newlypurchased shoes. Pink and white... just like the jumper and the top Iwas wearing... a very cute match... Actually, it was more overwhelmingthan just a pair of shoes.It was the whole package. The cute pink jumper, the mass of curls on myhead, the airy and sexy rub of the stockings, down to the tickling ofmy eyelashes as I blinked.And, most of all to me, the one-inch acrylic nails, done in a. More

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