A Crippled Lesbinem

2010-07-26, 9:56 p.m.
Every time I let my hair grow out a bit, I kid myself that I will wake up one morning and look like this:

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Sadly, all I ever do is look more and more like this:

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Tomorrow I shall drag my sorry carcass to Chigley, where I shall get my barnet cut super short � possibly with an end result of looking a bit like a blonde one of these:

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Bitter experience tells me I shall probably look much more like one of these:

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Particularly as my darling daughter said (quoting �Friends�), �Don�t, Mumsie! You�ll look like a lesbinem�. *sigh*


I am on holiday this week. That makes it sound like something good, involving beaches or hotels or jugs of sangria or something like that. Actually, it just means that my daughters have returned from Zante (tanned and gorgeous, the little bastards) and so I am deciding to not do any housework this week and I don�t have any training work scheduled in either. I am already a little bit bored, even though I have painted my fingernails a particularly fetching shade of turquoise and added some little white polka dots because I am tragic to show that I am not quite over-the-hill yet.

Tomorrow�s strenuous activity involves getting the aforementioned haircut and then meeting an old work colleague for lunch. Unfortunately, the old work colleague that I am meeting is not Slaveboy, so the lunch will be of seriously depleted fun levels and will probably involve food that my wallet and my waistline cannot afford (she�s choosing the restaurant).

Wednesday promises even more joy, as I am taking Jooj to her orthodontist appointment, in sodding Portsmouth, and then travelling on down to spend the day with Sis. That should be fun although I understand that its also the first day of something dull at Goodwood which means that the traffic through Chichester will be most non-NON-heinous, dude. I also need to persuade my Sis that we should, nay, we NEED to go to Bruges for a couple of days R & R somewhen over the next few weeks. She has no money and cannot drive, so I am hoping to bribe her with my car and my tiny amount of savings. Also, I know my daddy has already batch-booked all the tunnel crossings all the way up til Christmas and beyond and he has already generously agreed to donate one to us, because we are his girlies and we remember stuff like his birthday and when Fathers Day is and we sometimes invite him for Sunday lunch � unlike that lazyarse Stepfordbro who is as rich as Croesus�.but not rich enough to buy a card and stick a stamp on it, obviously.

I could, of course, take my husband away for a couple of days if Sis says no, but I refer my honourable readers to the statement I made some entries ago, involving the words �I cut up his credit cards�, which should give you some clue as to how disinclined I feel towards spending money on husbands just at the mo. Don�t get me wrong, I still love him, he�s just a bit crap and needs to eat a bit more humble pie (or couscous, as I know he REALLY hates that and would only be doing it for me!) before I feel like lavishing anything much on him. I did get him a burger when we went to B & Q on Sunday, AND it was a double-extra-cheese, but after that he can pretty much bugger right off.

I did a load of laundry this morning and hung it on the airer as I thought it might rain�then the sun came out so I carried the airer out into the garden�..then it rained so I scampered back out into the garden and picked up the airer to dash back into the house. Airers full of washing are cumbersome and unwieldy things and, when carried in front of the face, can restrict vision somewhat. This is probably how I came to walk, patella first, into the doorframe of the conservatory � with all my considerable bulk, a following wind and some hastening (brought on by the precipitation) � adding to the resultant bone-crunching collision.

It hurt so much that, for a moment, it didn�t hurt at all � a bit like the eye of a hurricane, I think � and then the most eye-watering, agonising paroxysms of agony shooting around my poor, poor knee, as I wavered on the threshold, still balancing a wobbly airer of other peoples knickers.

I was hissing �OH FUCKING JESUS H CHRIST ON A BIKE OW FUCKING OW FUCKING HELL�S TEETH I CANT EVEN PUT MY FOOT ON THE GROU�OH FUCKING HELL� and bearing the wobbly Jacob�s Knicker Ladder and wishing we�d bought a cheaper conservatory that would at least have had the decency to GIVE a little. Oh, the pain! Worse even than childbirth or stepping on a plug. I fear my days as a Tiller girl may be over�or at least I will have a massive and impressive bruise in a day or two. If it goes properly black, I shall take pictures for your delectation.

I shall also take a picture if tomorrow�s hairdo looks

a) awesome or
b) really really stupid

I suspect that it will be c) mediocre in which case you�ll just have to use your imagination until it grows out.

Later
S
X

PS I didn�t drop anything off the airer. Not so much as a sock. Be impressed.





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