It all started when Pam Pickering’s lemon slice beat Margery McDonald’s vanilla slice in the town bake-off two years ago.  Ever since, the once close neighbours have been at each other’s throats, with Margery accusing Pam of cheating.  Pam rejects the claims, saying it’s just “sour grapes” on Margery’s part, adding mockingly: “They aren’t a very smart secret ingredient.”

Meanwhile, their husbands, Jim Pickering and Kelvin McDonald, can’t understand what all the fuss is about.  They meet three times a week in a ‘garden shed’ shared by both properties.
“Marge is still going on about that bake-off,” Kelvin said to Jim during their weekly drinking session.
“God, tell me about it,” Jim said, cracking open another can.  “That’s the only thing Pam will talk about.  That and my snoring.  Bloody women.  Always focusing on the negatives, always arguing over the most trivial things.”
“Bloody women indeed,” said Kelvin.  “Pass us another can, would ya?”
Jim threw him another can.
“I’m not sure whether I can take much more of this bickering,” Jim said.  “It’s driving me up the wall.”
“You’re telling me,” Kelvin said.  “All Margery does with her days is to try and come up with a recipe to trump your Pam.  Our grocery bill is the highest it’s been in years – around $200 a week.  It doesn’t leave much money for the grog.”
“That’s terrible!!” Jim exclaimed.  “All that unbought booze going to waste down other people’s throats.  It’s definitely a problem we need to address.”
“Too right,” said Kelvin.

A few days later, Pam was in her backyard, weeding her vegetable garden and picking the odd carrot and tomato.  She was just about to go back inside when, out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed something fly over the side fence.  She turned to look, and something else flew over the fence.  Upon closer inspection they turned out to be weeds.  She looked over the fence to see Margery throwing the weeds she was picking over the fence.
“Oi!!  What do you think you’re doing?” Pam said, glaring at Margery.
“What does it look like you silly old hag?” Margery replied.  “I’m weeding.”
“And throwing your weeds over our fence,” said Pam.  She picked up one of the weeds and threw it at Margery, hitting her between the eyes.
“You bitch!!” she shrieked.  She threw a weed and hit Pam in the mouth.  “There, have some lunch.”
“You little hussy!!” Pam shouted, and soon an all-out weed war was in full-swing, with both women receiving significant blows.
“You old bag, I ought to put kerosene in your knickers!!” Pam said, hurling more weeds at Margery.
“Oh yeah?” said Margery.  “I ought to put itching powder in yours, then you might actually feel something for a change!!”
By this stage, Jim and Kelvin had assembled on their respective patios, giving each other knowing looks whilst their wives fought out World War 3.  It wasn’t long before the women became physically worn out.  They both fell to their knees, trying to catch their breath.
“Here Marge,” said Kelvin, helping her to her feet, “I’ll go make you a cup of tea.”
“Stupid bitch,” said Margery, “Deserves everything that’s coming to her.  Who sells itching powder in this town?”
On the other side of the fence, Pam slowly got to her feet and trudged inside.
“Jim, fix us up a lemonade would you?  My throat is parched.”
“Would you like me to get you a wet towel as well?” he asked.
“Why?” she replied.
“Have a look at yourself in the mirror,” Jim said, cutting a lemon.  “Then you’ll see.”
Pam walked to the bathroom and looked in horror at the scratch marks all down her face, some of them bleeding.
“That little slut!!” she shrieked.  “She’ll pay for this.”

The 2006 Laundon bake-off had been the most anticipated bake-off since its inception.  For eight years, it was a forgone conclusion that Margery McDonald’s vanilla slice was unbeatable.  Nothing anyone else ever baked came close to Margery’s creamy vanilla slices.  That was until Pam and Jim Pickering moved next door to the McDonald’s in early 2003.  Word around town was that Pam was working on a recipe to challenge that famous vanilla slice.  The news didn’t seem to faze Margery; if anything it seemed to spur her on to extend her winning streak.  In the next few bake-offs, Pam came close to beating Margery, but despite this rivalry, they remained close friends.

The day of the 2006 bake-off was miserable, much like a Kevin Rudd press conference.  The heavens had opened the night before and had continued steadily into the morning, leaving the local showgrounds drenched, even with the tarpaulin set up for the day’s competitions.  After completing the other competitions (including Laundon’s Largest Vegetable, won by “Crazy” Gladys Maroni’s 64cm zucchini), it was time for the bake-off.  After dealing with the other entries, including Gladys Maroni’s zucchini and vegemite cake, it came down to Pam Pickering’s lemon slice and Margery McDonald’s famous vanilla slice.  First up was Pam’s offering.  The chief judge, Gary Glass, sampled Pam’s slice.
“Mmmm.  Nice texture, good taste, very nice aftertaste.  Nine out of ten.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Pam, who seemed a little surprised at how well she went.  Gary then moved onto Margery’s vanilla slice, almost licking his lips in anticipation.  Margery stood with a look of defiance, as if she thought she had it in the bag for the ninth year straight.  A hush fell over the residents of Laundon.
“Hmmm.  Interesting texture, a good taste, but not quite as creamy as it has been in previous years, Marge.  Seven out of ten.”
An audible gasp could be heard through the crowd.
“Gosh, poor Marge.  She must be shattered.”
“Oh dear, there goes Marge’s winning streak.”
“That’s the biggest turn-up in this town, that’s for sure.”
“Ladies and gentleman,” said Gary, hushing the crowd, “The winner of the 2006 Laundon bake-off is Pam Pickering and her lemon slice.”
The crowd broke into polite applause as Gary Glass handed the perpetual bake-off trophy to Pam.
“She cheated,” said Margery out of the blue.
“What?” said Gary.  “How?”
“She must have put something in my vanilla slice to make it taste different.”
“Or perhaps you weren’t up to it this year,” quipped Pam.
“You take that back you cheap hussy!!” yelled Margery.
“Never,” said Pam.  “Face it, my lemon slice was too good for your vanilla slice.”
“How dare you sully my vanilla slice like that!!” yelled Margery.  She launched herself at Pam, and both women went to ground, wrestling each other.  The crowd looked on astonished as camera flashes could be heard.  Laundon had not seen anything like this since that 14 year old dropped a lolly wrapper in the main street.  Finally, after about 30 seconds, the women’s husbands, Jim and Kelvin, decided to step in and separate the two women.  Both women got up off the ground, wet and absolutely filthy.  Once again, the crowd let out a gasp, and fairly soon raucous laughter could be heard.  The women, in their best white shirts, looked down their fronts to discover that their shirts had become see-through.
“Well, that puts a new spin on the wet t-shirt contest!!” joked one of the crowd.
“They look like onions in string bags!!” said another.  Both women, clearly embarrassed, went their separate ways, glaring back at each other.  Ever since, their relationship has been as sour as a lemon dipped in vinegar.

Pam Pickering ran the wet towel down her face, which stemmed the bleeding of some of her scratches.
“That bloody Margery McDonald,” she said, walking back into the kitchen.  “She’ll pay for this.”
“Pam,” Jim said, placing a lemonade in front of her, “Isn’t it about time you and Margery stopped fighting?  I mean, this nonsense has been going on for two years.”
Pam glared at him.  “Never,” she snapped.  “Not until she accepts the fact that her vanilla slice is nothing compared to my lemon slice.”
She sipped at her lemonade.  All of a sudden she started to sway in her chair.
“Oh, Jim,” she said, “I don’t feel so well.”
“What’s the matter?” Jim asked.
“I feel faint,” Pam replied.  “My head’s spinning.”  Suddenly she fell out of her chair.
“I’ll call an ambulance,” said Jim, running out of the room.

Kelvin placed a cup of tea in front of Margery.
“There you are dear,” he said.
“That Pam Pickering’s a menace,” she said.  “She thinks that she’s so good because she beat me in that bake-off.  It was only because she cheated.  I swear she slipped something into my vanilla slice that day.”
“Do you have any proof?” Kelvin asked.
“No,” Margery replied, “But I’m damn sure she did it.”
“Look Marge,” Kelvin said, “I think it’s about time you and Pam stopped fighting.  It’s been two years since that bake-off.  I think it’s about time you let go of your flawed conspiracy theory and make up with Pam.”
Margery gave him a look that would melt butter.  “Not until she admits she cheated.”
Kelvin sighed.  Suddenly there was a flash of blue light next door.
“What’s going on over there?” Margery asked.
Kelvin looked out the kitchen window.  “There’s an ambulance at the Pickering’s house.  I think they’re taking Pam.”
“Probably overcome with guilt after all this time,” quipped Margery, sipping at her tea.
Kelvin went to say something but thought better of it.  He knew trying to get Margery to become friends with Pam again was like flogging a dead horse – painful and frustrating.

Three days after Pam went into hospital, there was a knock on the McDonald’s door.  Kelvin opened it to a clearly distraught Jim.
“Jim, mate,” Kelvin said, “You look terrible.  What’s the matter?”
“It’s Pam,” Jim said.  “She might not make it.”
“What’s wrong with her?” Kelvin asked.
“She has acute anaemia,” Jim replied.  “She needs a blood transfusion within 48 hours.  The problem is, her blood type is AB negative, the rarest blood type around.  I can’t give her blood; my blood type is O positive.  How about you Kelvin?”
“Same as you mate,” Kelvin replied.
“Well,” Jim replied, “I guess there’s not much more I can do.”
With that, he turned and walked down the path, got in his car and drove off.  Kelvin shut the door and walked back to his loungeroom.
“What’s going on?” Margery asked.
“It’s Pam,” Kelvin replied.  “She needs a blood transfusion in the next 48 hours or she’ll die.  Problem is, her blood type is AB negative, the rarest type.”
“I’ve got AB negative blood,” Margery said.
Kelvin sat up in his seat.  “Really?  Margery, you need to give Pam some blood.”
“Never,” Margery said.  “She can wither and die.”
“Margery!!” Kelvin said forcefully.  “That is a poor attitude.  How can you be so callous?  Jim is a good friend of mine and I can’t stand back and watch while the love of his life dies of a potentially preventable cause.  You need to put your pettiness behind you.  Would you be able to live with yourself knowing you could have saved her life?  Quit thinking about yourself for once and do something for someone else for a change.”
Margery sat in her chair, looking like a scolded schoolgirl.  Kelvin had never spoken to her like that.  She knew what had to be done.

Pam Pickering awoke in her hospital bed to Margery McDonald standing over her.
“About time you woke up,” Margery quipped.  “Good to see my blood worked for you.”
“What?” Pam said, her voice husky and weak.  “You have AB negative blood?”
“I certainly do,” Margery replied.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Thanks would be nice,” Margery replied.  There was an awkward silence before Pam piped up.
“Marge,” she said, “I have a confession to make.  I spiked your vanilla slice at the 2006 bake-off.”
“I knew it!!” Margery yelled.  “What did you use?”
“Some of my haemorrhoid cream,” Pam replied.  “It’s potent stuff.  I’m sorry Marge.”
Margery looked at Pam, a woman she had despised for the past two years, and instead of feeling aggrieved, she felt strangely happy.
“You know what?” Margery said.  “I don’t think it matters.  The bake-off was two years ago, and you won it, albeit unfairly.”
Pam managed a weak smile.  “It’s good to be friends again.”
“It certainly is,” Margery said.  “It certainly is.”

Two weeks after Pam came out of hospital, both couples had tea at the McDonald’s house – roast lamb followed by apple pie.  Afterwards, both couples moved to the McDonald’s loungeroom for some tea and Margery’s famous vanilla slice, sans Pam’s haemorrhoid cream.
“So Jim,” said Kelvin, “Your turn to get the beer tomorrow.”
“No,” Jim replied, “I believe it’s your turn.”
“No, no, no,” Kelvin said, “I got it last time.  It’s your turn.”
“No,” Jim said, slightly agitated, “I got it last time.  It’s definitely your turn.”
“No it’s not!!” Kelvin yelled.  “I paid for it last time!!  It’s your turn to get it!!”
“Hey, fellas, settle down,” Pam said.  “Does it really matter whose turn it is?”
“Yes,” Jim replied.  “I paid for it last time, so it’s Kelvin’s turn.”
The argument continued on in a similar vein for some minutes, before Pam decided it was best to go home before the two men came to blows.  The women farewelled each other politely, whilst the men shouted obscenities at each other.
“You cheating bastard!!” Jim yelled as Pam pulled him out the door.  “You know it’s your turn for the beer!!”
“Bullshit!!” Kelvin yelled back.  “You’re just a bloody tight-arse who doesn’t want to pay for the grog!!”

Over the next few weeks, Jim and Kelvin continued on with their beer argument.  Meanwhile, their wives, Pam and Margery, can’t understand what all the fuss is about.