From the country that gave us cigars in the White House pantry and the governor who went for a walk only to wind up in Buenos Aires doing the horizontal tango comes the latest proof that nobody does a jaw-dropping political scandal like Americans.

What began as a rumble about naked lobbying in the gym showers by Barack Obama’s chief of staff has turned into the cringe-inducing political wilting of US congressman Eric Massa, amid allegations of grown men in tickle fights, allegations of same-sex harassment and the spectre – raised by Massa himself – that there might be some unfortunate text messages on congressional staff phones.

After claiming just days ago he was pressured into resigning from Congress by Democrats, Massa, who is married with children, went on a highly-anticipated TV interview only to backtrack on his key allegations and then admit to all-in, all-guy tickle fights with staff.

When people ask me what I do for a living I tell them, then I bite my tongue. 

You see; I’m a community development worker. In my outer-suburban neighbourhood centre I manage a host of programs for people who need support: grandparents who’ve taken custody of their grandkids in distressing circumstances, playgroups for toddlers with teenage mums, skills training for long-term unemployed, to name a few. 

You could put your last $5 on the response (and I am often down to my last fiver so maybe I should). “Oh, you must be an angel!” they say; and, “it must be great to have such a rewarding job.”

I bite my tongue, because expletives from a woman of my years might come as a shock.

There is no point in complaining to my parents about what the Rudd Government has done to people in higher income brackets. My parents paid 60 cents in the dollar, worked a six-day week, raised two kids, five cats (not at the same time) and a dog and still saved for their own retirement.

In fact, there is no point discussing any sort of paid maternity leave system with my parents or anyone else who had children more than 10 years ago. Many didn’t have access to one, they don’t see the need for one and they don’t think mothers today deserve one.

And don’t get them started on the Baby Bonus.

When my daughter was almost two she did something lots of people do every morning. She ate some peanut butter on toast. Two hours later, when breakfast was long forgotten and the time for lunch was nearly upon us, her face began to swell – and in moments, she was scarcely able to breathe.

I will never forget the terror of holding her while feeling completely helpless as her body turned against her. The gasping sounds she made as she struggled to take her next breath, rapidly turning pale, and as her body went floppy.

It was the most terrifying moment of my life, and a memory that will stay imprinted with my husband and I forever. If it wasn’t for the fast response from a clued-in GP, she wouldn’t have seen her second birthday.

I’ve been thinking for a while now that the Australian cricket team and the huge machinery around it contained a bunch of over-paid, under-developed, spoiled brats happily trapped in a pre-feminist world, but today really tipped it over the edge for me.

It’s clear the cricket mob is not coping with the loss of the good old days when wives maintained a dignified presence at home for 10 months of the year while their husbands traveled their way around the world safely cocooned in the mantra “what goes on tour stays on tour.”

According to Peter Roebuck, Robert Craddock, Mark Waugh, and just about every other bloke with an opinion on this, Lara Bingle didn’t get the memo that it’s her job to stay at home and play a “quiet, dignified supporting role.”