A little note beforehand – I wrote this before I found out Emily. But, I am going to post it today as planned. All aboard for a giggle.
Something for the weekend.
Something for the weekend, Sir? Yes. Make mine a holiday flat on the coast.
Just a few weeks ago I was checking out the calendar and said to husband
“wow. We have been together 8 ½ years tomorrow”.
To which he went
“yeah. Long time innit?” and returned to wiping the fish poo off of the fish cleaner tube.
Not sure either of us came out well in the romance stakes in this convo. It is time for some “us time”.
So, he books it all. Mini-break by the coast. In-laws to babysit. A day off work. This is unheard off! *shifty eyes*. This means I am going to have to shave my legs. I suppose I owe him something in return…
And as the days go on and the countdown begins it is like Christmas is coming! 4 more sleeps, 3 more sleeps…He comes home from work and is battling the flying monkeys from The Wizard of Oz as they launch themselves at him shrieking (the children) and he proudly tells me he has booked us a dinner reservation for Friday night at a posh restaurant.
“So we need posh clothes!” he shouts at me as I leave the room and the flying monkeys go in for the kill. The nads.
Crappity crap! I already had to enter Narnia through the wardrobe, destroy 6 moths and a family of mice to find my jeans today for the “walk” he told me he has planned (6 miles long it is! I will need Coldplay singing that song they play when the celebs complete their marathons and good deeds. Sponsor me if you like at “all donations go to Oyster Bay eventually dot com”). I had to lie down on the bed to do my jeans up. Depressing. I normally disguise my tree trunks in skirts but Laura Ashley prints don’t really go with walking boots. I don’t want to look like someone called Franny who is a Brownie leader and is married to the Vicar, flouncing about in chintz with her Peter Storms and clipboard and plummy accent.
But now during the evening we have to dress fancy?! I shall just shave my pits and pumice my feet then too, shall I?! It has become a weekend of themed outfits! I may as well have gone on a bikini only hen weekend to Ibiza with a bunch of supermodels!
I trudge upstairs to begin the transformation from Yeti to Attempt-at-Hottie and take out the “Lush” box I got for Mothers Day.
“My lush box just keeps giving I snigger to my husband”. I am a hoot! I used a bath bomb fizzer for the first time ever in my life. I drop it in and it buzzes around the bath water, like a hamster plopped in to a vat of acid. The water went barbie pink and I slipped in. It was like bathing in a pool of formaldehyde or that pink stuff the dentist gives you to rinse your mouth out with after a filling. It is not the relaxing environment I hoped for. I use a face masque…but I panic if it goes to near to my eyes or hairline so I end up looking like one of Penelope Pitstops Ant Hill Mob gang members with a 5 o’clock shadow.
But I smell nice. I definitely smell nicer than when I use the old handcream I find in the bottom of my handbag that smells like public toilet it is that old.
Now for the packing.
*stuffs toothbrush in between the NZ Sauv Blanc and the shiraz*…and I am packed.
So, you all know what I will be doing at 10pm on Friday evening? Hush your dirty filthy minds! That’s right…I will be asleep on the sofa in a puddle of my own dribble. Bring on the lie-ins! And call me a bitch if you want to.