This is the latest version of the “It could only happen to me” file.

There is a saying that the simple things in life are free, which is great but no-one said they were simple to do, not for me anyway.

Take last week for instance.

My lovely but rather bossy semi-retired wife informs me when I get home from work that I have a job to do.

“Your rego label has arrived in the mail and you’re driving around with an expired one. You better go and change it because if you get fined you will be paying it yourself, blah blah blah.”

Now years ago these things used to be a pain and when our youngest son was old enough to hold sharp things I used to get him to change them.

These days it is a simple peel off one and peel on another. Idiot proof...well nearly anyway.
So out I went with the dogs in tow waiting for their nightly walk but because I am a compulsive excessive, the label had to be done before we left.

So with two dogs as witnesses I endeavoured to change the label.

I even read the instructions first which is probably where I went wrong.

It said that the yellow part had to peel off with it, but unfortunately so did half the paper which made me panic.
So I tried to stick it all on the screen.

That clearly didn’t work because the paper covered up the make and model of the car and it didn’t stick real well.

I even tried licking it and then thought about getting the two dogs to do it as well but the language scared them off and they had retreated back inside, not wanting any part of the debacle.

So eventually I plucked up enough courage to go back inside, but with two screwed up labels which were inspected by old mate and I was then interrogated about whether I had read the instructions.

“You will have to go to the Main Roads and get a new one you idiot,” which gave me visions about standing in line with one of those stupid deli numbers while waiting for someone to have a smoke break or carer’s leave before they served me.

I threw the old one in the bin but was then told to go and get it and stick it back on, which didn’t seem right to me because it was the sixth month and mine had a five on it.

But I wasn’t in any position to argue so I dusted the old tea bag and empty stubbie off the thing and miraculously it stuck back on...crooked of course.

After begging with her, she agreed to go to the Main Roads the next day which gave me some solace as I was hoping the queue was nice and long.

But as it turned out she rang them and told the story of her stupid husband and after the girl stopped laughing she agreed to post one out.

She also told her that it was an offence to drive around with the old one on, which proved that even though I am an idiot I do know the law.

But something else happened that night of the botched label that should have been simple as well.

After the dust had settled and she was sitting down watching television I was asked to get her a piece of cake – something we usually don’t and never should have in the fridge.

It was in one of those plastic containers that you have to twist to unlock the lid.

When I put it back on it seemed secure, until I went to put it back in the fridge and the cake went skidding across the tiles.

During my unsuccessful stint as a brickies labourer I did get to use a trowel a few times and that came in handy when I put the cake back together, although the cream was much more workable than the mud I used to mix.

Of course, I had to invoke the 30 second rule.
You know, the one where if it’s under that the germs haven’t enough time to climb aboard.

I also had to fight off the two dogs, who showed much more interest in the cake than the other fiasco.

I think the plastic containers are God’s way of telling me I don’t need cake.

As for the rego label, I reckon when the new one arrives in the mail I’ll go and get one of the 10-year-olds from the other end of the street to put it on.