Look at me now!

Why is it you always bump into someone you didn't want to when you look like a pile of crap? Guaranteed, they will look fabulous, have their fabulous partner/friend with them and gush all over you in between telling you how fabulous their life is. This is a phenomenon known as "Shit On Me" and seems to follow a selection of unfortunate people (like me) around. It first happened when I was in my late teens, I was returning home after crashing on my friends sofa after a particularly heavy night out clubbing. I'm walking home in last night's clothes, believe me Lycra does crease in ways you can't imagine. My make up has spent the night slithering off my face and is now streaked down my cheeks. I have Alice Cooper eyes and the can of hairspray I used making my hair look fabulous 12 hrs before has turned to snow like flakes and is literally blowing out of my hair as I'm walking. I look like I'm fighting my way through a blizzard which is probably why I didn't notice the school bitch walking toward me. Before I can re-focus my sight and scuttle across the road she's already seen me. And not satisfied that she's observed me looking like some tramp she instigates a conversation. While looking fabulously fresh with glowing (or gloating) cheeks she begins interrogating me. With dry mouth, bloodshot eyes, feet that are cut to ribbons from the shoes I have danced the night away in I try to brazen it out. It didn't work. I knew she was loving every minute.
That wasn't exactly an isolated incident either, oh no. Over the years I have bumped into a whole array of people that I just didn't want to. Always when I look like crap and they look great. Ex-boyfriends are usually the worst, you always want them to see you looking fantastic, so you can tell them how successful your life has been since they weren't in it. Instead you bump into them at the petrol station or in the supermarket when you've only ran in for a loaf of bread, wearing your biggest most unflattering jumper, your oldest trainers, and jogging bottoms that are fraying at the crotch. They, on the other hand are shopping for a romantic dinner (you only know this because they take great pleasure in telling you). And the tall, skinny woman with glossy hair and her arms wrapped round his waist is a bit of a give away.
I've even tried to become pro-active in this. I've taken time to get myself all glammed up, walked out of the house feeling great and deliberately wandered around places I thought I may bump into someone I normally didn't want to. Did I bump into anyone? No, of course I didn't. I didn't see a single person who I would want to see me looking effortlessly gorgeous and successful. After my sixteenth lap of the supermarket I was attracting attention from the security guards and had to leave. So you see, I'm not destined to have "look at me now" moments unless it's immediately followed by "I look like shit"!

Too many choices

I was brought up in quite a large family, I had three younger siblings and parents who would probably be considered quite strict in today's society. We had six basic rules of play. 1. Learn to share (toys, food and hand me down clothes were the main contenders). 2. Read body language (my dad very rarely raised his voice, but one look would give you clear direction as to where you were going wrong). 3. Eat what you were given without complaining (no flexibility on this one, no eating dinner, no eating dessert - or anything else until the following day). 4. Always use your manners, wherever you were and whoever you spoke to. 5. Behave respectfully, particularly when visiting other people's homes. 6. Always look people in the eye. (My dad was of the opinion that if you didn't look people in the eye you were hiding something).



I don't feel that these rules were exceptionally harsh, they were there for a reason and I believe we grew up all the better for them. I try to use similar rules for my own daughter (well, apart from the if looks could kill one, my dad did have the advantage of looking like he was about to turn into the hulk. Which kind of gave us a head start. Unfortunately, despite my gallant efforts and hours of practising in the mirror, the only two faces I've managed to achieve are the one where I look like I'm about to sneeze or the one where I cross my eyes. Neither of them very scary so I've abandoned that one altogether.



Maybe I've been running into lots of parents who don't employ basic house rules, but it does seem to me that children are becoming fussier, less polite (sometimes downright rude) and more demanding. It did get me wondering who made them like that in the first place. I know I wouldn't have dreamt of, firstly refusing to eat what my mother had made for dinner, secondly bawling and shouting until I was given something else. A friend of mine used to ask her toddler every evening what he would like for dinner. He would inevitably ask for the same thing every time and when she then tried to introduce something new he would throw a wobbler. We never had those choices when I was a child. Are we giving our children too many choices? Perhaps that's where the problem lies - perhaps we are overwhelming them with choice.



Manners also seem to be a thing of the past, please and thank you's are a rarity from adults these days, never mind children. If parents don't teach their children that manners are a fundamental part of communication we will we be in ten years time? My daughter recently had a friend over to play. Call me old fashioned but I was shocked when I found this child helping herself to food in my cupboards and fridge. Don't get me wrong I have no problem with children asking for things (as long as there is a please) but to just take it upon herself to take whatever she fancied took me by surprise. I've always gone by the rule that no child is allowed to take food without asking first.



I may be getting old, I may be getting grouchy, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Children respond positively to rules. It seems to me that the children of today have more to say and choose from than ever before. Some would say that's a good thing. I'm not so sure, I think boundaries are good for children. How will they know when they've crossed the line if the line wasn't made clear, or they didn't know there was a line in the first place?

Easy Street

Is it me or do the men just seem to get an unbelieveably easy deal? Returning home after work one day, I found my other half asleep on the sofa, legs hanging over the arm, cushions all bent and squashed. The noise of my arrival barely disturbing his obviously blissful sleep. Looking around, I could see everything exactly as I left it. This man had spent the entire day doing absolutely nothing. The bed hadn't been made (despite him being the last one out of it), his breakfast and lunch dishes were left in the sink with the remnants cementing on the plates. The butter was out on the worktop, along with the milk and the jam. Our neighbours probably thought we'd had a death in the family, what with all the curtains having remained closed for most of the day. When I enquired (through gritted teeth) what he had been doing all day he informed me, cheerfully that he had done nothing as "it's my day off". I could have launched him through the cloaked windows of my messy house! I fought with myself in a bid to keep calm and asked if he knew when my day off was. He gave me a look that said oh crap I've done it now. Taking this opportunity to exercise my vocal chords I answered my own question with "NEVER". My days off departed as quickly as my youth the moment I became a mother. Apparently though, I could have a day off whenever I like. When asked who would do my jobs whilst I'm enjoying day off I get the blank look again. Oh, so you're not offering to help out so that I can actually benefit from the day off then? No, it seems that the only suggestion coming my way is "Leave it" and seemingly do it tomorrow when you have twice as much to do, in twice as less time! Of course, I don't expect these mere mortals to perfect, but sometimes, just sometimes it would be nice to know that when you come home they have had the forethought to make the bed, pick up their dirty clothes, wash their own dishes and I know it's pushing the boat out - but shock, horror ...put a casserole in the oven! I live in hope and a bit of desperation!

Three Men and A Dressing Gown

I got to thinking that it's almost a year since my last birthday. The time has just flown and I now realise that I'm getting older because I'm saying things like the time has flown! My mother told me that would happen, I never believed her - now I sound just like her.

Anyway, it made me think about my last birthday and what an interesting night it turned out to be. The man in my life had planned a surprise party, invited my friends and family to a celebration at a lovely restaurant. Some of our friends had travelled up from the south and our neighbour and friend had offered to put them up in his house as we didn't have enough room. Our neighbour was a lovely man, he was a good friend of ours and of course he'd been invited to join in the celebrations. He wasn't able to make it as he'd made plans to go out with a lady he'd recently starting dating. These opportnities didn't come around very often, he was a really shy man, female company tended to unnerve him so we were pleased that he was out having fun. Alas later in the evening we heard that his date had gone wrong and he had decided to stay for drinks at his local pub. This generated some sympathy from my female friends as we all felt he never had any luck where women were concerned.
A group of us arrived at our home after our night out, some of our friends were staying with us, some with our neighbour (who'd very kindly given them a key so they could go over when they were ready). We weren't quite ready for bed though and the night looked to be a long one so our friends who were staying at our neighbours house wanted to change their shoes and get out of their fancy clothes into something more comfortable. We rang our neighbour to see if he was home before our friends let themselves into his house but had got no reply so they decided he must be out and it would be fine to use the key. My other half and two of his friends trundled over there but found that the door was double locked from the inside, thinking this was strange they began calling his mobile phone, they could hear the ring tone from inside the house but still there was no reply from their rather loud knocking. At our house we could hear the commotion but shortly after we heard his door open, and presumed all was well. A few minutes later the three men walked back into our house, ashen faced and suprisingly quiet considering their rowdiness only minutes before. The rest of us were asking questions by now, assuming that something awful was wrong. I can't describe how disturbed these three big burly men looked, they all seemed to be in shock. Finally after much interrogation the story began to unfold. They'd hammered on his door concerned for his safety (why do men suddenly turn into drama queens after a few drinks?) and eventually they'd heard our neighbour running down the stairs. He didn't open the door but instead informed them from behind it that he was busy, he couldn't speak to them right now. They'd insisted he open the door as they were worried something was wrong (if it had been a bunch of women they'd have taken the hint and gone home). Reluctantly he'd opened the door, roaring drunk and naked apart from a pink silky dressing gown which he'd attempted to wrap round himself but was clearly too small and didn't meet in the middle. The parts of his body he'd so gallantly tried to cover where the exact parts he was exposing. Speechless, the three men looked at each other, looked at him, one of them asked him what he was doing and had he forgotten that he had guests that evening. Our shy, timid neighbour brazenly told them that he had pulled and could they come back later. With that he'd flounced back up the stairs, exposing his backside as he went and shouting over his shoulder to shut the door behind them. By the time the tale had been told, we were all roaring laughing, it was like a scene from a carry on film. The best of it was half an hour later he knocked on our door, acting like nothing had happened, with his conquest trailing behind him (looking dishevelled with a definite case of bed head) and asking if we minded if they joined us for drinks! The tale does go on but I think I'll have to save it for Three Men and A Dressing Gown Part 2!

I have a friend who is beautiful, generous, funny and loyal. There have been times in my life when I don't know I'd have got through without her. We've laughed with tears rolling down our face, cried with tears (and a bit of snot) running down our face, we've danced together (although I have to admit she put's me to shame), shopped together, been heartbroken together, and talked till our ears hurt or one of us fell asleep! It's a wonderful thing to have a friend who knows you inside out, who recognises that quiver in your voice means something is wrong. I know my life wouldn't be the same without her in it - and I want to say thank you. For everything. You know who you are missy!

Secret Keeper

Most of us have at least one person in our life who we know we can trust. We’d probably go to them in a crisis and confide our problems in them. But what if you’re the one everyone goes to in a crisis? What if you’re the one who is carrying everyone else’s secrets, they say knowledge is power but I say knowledge can sometimes be a burden. The world is full of secrets, so that must mean that the world is full of secret keepers. Secrets come in all shapes and sizes so you’d think the life of a secret keeper would be fun and exciting. Secrets can be wonderful things, the surprise birthday party, the engagement proposal, and it’s lovely to think that everyone is confiding in you, that they trust you enough to share their secrets with. But being a secret keeper is a double sided coin, what if the secret isn’t wonderful. What if someone told you a secret you wish you didn’t know. What if the consequences of the secret being exposed would hurt people. That’s the thing with secret keeping, you sometimes know things you’d rather not. Personally, my biggest secret keeper bug bear is affairs, particularly if it involves people I know. That’s the problem with secrets, you don’t know what someone is going to confide in you until they’ve said it – and then it’s too late. Some would say that type of knowledge means you have an obligation to do something about it, try to intervene. Rightly, or wrongly my stance would be to discourage of course but it’s not my life and not my business. The consequences of interference could be devastating.
So you see, secret keeping is not all it’s cracked up to be, yes we may know all the gossip, we may know more than you – but we probably know things you’d be glad you don’t.

The compromise

They say it's all about compromise, give and take - a bit of flexibility goes a long way, blah blah blah! Compromise only works when both parties are prepared to give a little. Today we found ourselves unexpectedly in a free situation, our daughter has gone to stay with some friends for the weekend. It left us in a dilemma, we should do something together - these opportunities rarely happen and so we should enjoy the freedom. So we start to discuss the possibilities, it's a brainstorming session, no pressure, all ideas welcome. You get my drift. My thinking is, we live miles from the city so if we go out for drinks it's a trek home not to mention the ridiculous cost of taxi fare etc. If one of us was going to offer to drive it would be me - and to be honest trailing around the kind of pubs he likes would be my idea of hell... compromise, compromise. So I suggest going to the theatre, we look at what's on, nothing he fancies. I suggest going to the cinema, and refrain from picking the film (even though there are at least three films I would love to see but I'm compromising). Nothing he wants to see. I suggest going out for the day, but apparently taking a day trip is something only pensioners do so that idea is banished too. I'm rapidly running out of suggestions and we're no further on in deciding what to do. Idea's from his camp are decidedly sparse, so far everything I've brought to the table is provoking a scowl. The only thing he suggested was meeting my dad for drinks.... hello we have time to just be a couple and it's the first saturday night we've been in a position to go out for months and you want to spend it with my dad! What gives?? Eventually I trundle off to bed, taking my pensioner mind set and droopy ass with me. I'm lying there feeling slightly wounded at the pensioner comment and thinking about how even my best compromising skills have failed. Yet again. And then it hits me.... something fun and interesting, something we don't do often (no it's not sex)....Ice Skating. So I leap out of bed and shout down the stairs "We could go Ice Skating". There is a moment of silence... and then "Erm, yeah we could do". So that is it, no more debates, let's see what he is made of. Ice Skating.. lets see how much fun you can take when your big old ass hits that rink!

Thank You

Just wanted to say thank you to Blue Velvet and Tabitha for reading my blog. I'm still fairly new to this, only been blogging since Sunday and so I'm not sure if this is even the right way to do things. Anyhow, you two made my day and I'm glad you liked my blogs!

The Comfort Zone

We’ve all done it, settled into a relationship and been hit by the contentment train. We relax a little, allow our men to see us in our comfy fluffy pj’s with matching fluffy slippers, wear the comfy knickers from time to time, and stop being so paranoid about every little detail. In other words we stop trying to be perfect and just hope our man won’t mind the real version. We still make an effort though, we still want them to find us attractive so we try to keep ourselves looking nice and maintaining our appearance. Men, when content that their partner does indeed love them and are secure in the knowledge that the lady in their life is around for good seem to abandon all of their principles which you were so impressed by. I remember when me and my partner met, for about three months he would go out of the room to pass wind, I was so impressed that a man would go to such lengths in the name of manners. Of course it didn’t last and before long he was asking me to pull his finger so he could fart on demand. Other niceties disappeared too, the interest in my emotional wellbeing for example. There was a time when he would listen attentively to my tales of a bad day at work, nod sympathetically and practically fall over himself to give me a foot rub. Now, when I return from work after a stressful day I barely even receive a grunt of recognition as I walk through the door. If I try to instigate a conversation and the TV is on (which is most of the time) he’ll impatiently respond with “I’m trying to watch this, tell me in the break”. Then I try to cram a full conversation into a three minute commercial break and you can guarantee he’s not listening to a word I’m saying, he’s more interested in ogling the girl on the clubbing CD advert who is busy grinding her way around a pole.
Don’t get me started on the lack of interest in their appearance either, when you’re courting they’re always at the gym, toning and honing themselves. Now, we’d be more likely to find them in the KFC next to the gym rather than on the treadmill. They’d make a real effort in their clothing choices too, always looking dapper and sharp. Now they wear any old thing, and more often than not will decide to do the painting in their best shirt. Sweaty feet hang over the arm of the sofa, their dirty socks discarded in a little sweat pile on the living room floor along with their smelly shoes. They get up in the morning, bedraggled and with their once pristine boxer shorts hanging halfway down their ass, scratching their head with one hand and their balls with the other. They take great pleasure in striding off to the bathroom with the paper under their arm and don’t even have the good grace to open the window when they’ve finished. All of the endearing little habits that impressed us so much long gone now, along with their manners and sense of romance.
Now if I mention romance he looks at me like I’ve gone slightly mad. The man who would once light candles all over the house now considers them a severe fire risk and the cause of the majority of house fires. The remote control which was once a dual owned piece of equipment is in now in sole possession of his lordship, apparently it’s been surgically attached to his finger and would cause intolerable pain if it were removed.
The truly deluded men even criticise their long suffering partners, making snidey remarks if they’ve put on a little weight (failing to notice they’ve put on three time as much and we haven’t said a word). Or be the first to mention the grey hair they’ve spotted and when they do go shopping with us they pick out the most garish and slutty outfit as the winner. It sometimes makes me wonder if they know us at all. And they wonder why we all have a rabbit, it doesn’t talk back, looks pleased to see us and makes us feel really good – what more could a girl ask for!

The Modern Man

Is there really such a thing as the modern man? I’ve been researching this the only way I know how, asking all my girlfriends if a) he exists, b) do they have one, c) or have they met one? The resounding answer is no! So I got to thinking, what is the definition of a modern man? My research was extensively carried out in a thorough and professional manner (ok I admit it was a room full of women, several bottles of wine and a takeaway – food and drink is an ingenious incentive)! We concluded that our perception (as women) of the modern man is one that sees the relationship as an equal partnership, contributes equally towards the raising of the children, their relationship, and the home. So what would this look like in our everyday lives? No more picking up of dirty socks and underpants from the bathroom floor (because our modern man would take responsibility for his own belongings). The children wouldn’t be hungrily waiting for us to return home because “Dad didn’t know what you were making for dinner” as a tasty nutritious meal would be waiting for us when we got in. There wouldn’t be any excuses thought up for not doing housework (“I don’t know how that hoover works, it’s too technical for me” is a common one (despite the fact that they’ve just spent hours wiring up the latest playstation or installing surround sound speakers). The modern man would appreciate his wife and all that she contributes for her family, he would know that it’s the little things that count, running a bath for his wife/partner, offering to make the children’s lunches, taking the time to ask how her day went. He would know what days the kid’s have football, netball, swimming and he wouldn’t need a map to find his way around his own home! He wouldn’t get snappy and impatient on Sunday mornings when he offers to get up with the kids because his hardworking wife needs a lie in. He’d be considerate and ask which tv programme his wife wants to watch instead of hiding the remote. I’m still looking for the modern man, as are all of my friends and if anyone finds one please please notify the media, we may be able to clone him for future generations!

To wax or not to wax that is the question?

Personally, I am considering an industrial lawnmower as I’m unfortunately one of those people who can rapidly become overgrown and wild within a relatively short amount of time. The first time I realised that women were supposed to tend to their lady locks I was in a bar when I was about 18. I was eavesdropping on a conversation between two blokes. One of them was describing what a nightmare he was having with his girlfriend, apparently she was beautiful, but his problem was with her very overgrown muff! I was mortified, prior to this I thought what you got in terms of lady gardens was non negotiable. I could feel myself blushing imagining my own boyfriend having the exact conversation in a pub across town with one of his friends! Since then it's been the bain of my life and I’ve tried everything from shaving, trimming, hair removal creams and waxing. I’m ashamed to admit that my quest for a neat and tidy lady garden has taken me to some extreme lengths in the past. Emergency jobs have included an incident where I had no hair removal kit and was forced to use a pair of wallpaper scissors. Ok not forced to but after a couple of glasses of wine thought it was a good idea . Please don’t try this at home as it resulted in injury but luckily I escaped with minor cuts and didn’t need stitches! Another mortifying occasion was on holiday with my long suffering other half. We were planning a romantic night in, he’d popped out for a takeaway and I thought this the ideal chance to try out a new hair removal cream. I applied it carefully and waited the ten minutes for it to take effect. I popped myself in the shower when I sensed a burning sensation downstairs. I nervously looked down to find my bits had swollen beyond recognition. I gingerly wrapped myself in a towel and frantically searched the apartment for some kind of cold compress, the ice box was empty and I was contemplating calling reception for an ice pack when I spotted the two cans of cola sitting in the fridge. You can imagine the horror of my poor bloke when he returned back to find me lying on the sofa with two cans of cola between my legs. It wasn’t my finest moment, needless to say.
So you can see I just don’t feel that attractive with an unruly mop of hair poking out the sides of my knickers. My first experience of taming the beast (so to speak) was a waxing appointment, I had never had any kind of wax before so I had no idea what I was letting myself in for. The salon wasn’t exactly great, they didn’t advise me to trim down there first and bearing in mind I’d never even had a trim in my life it would have been less painful and decidedly less embarrassing, the poor girl had to use strips that were at least six feet long!
I came out very sore and not much better off. I decided that waxing wasn’t for me and tried to keep things under control myself for the next couple of years. It all came back to haunt me when after talking with my girlfriends one of them mentioned that her boyfriend had commented that she had bottom hair. I was horrified, not ever a place I looked myself but to think that I could be inflicting such a terror on someone else struck fear in me. I decided to bite the bullet and went with a therapist that I’d heard was really good. I made the appointment, and arrived to find there was no swanky salon, it was based above a newsagent and next to the tattoo parlour. With trepidation I climbed the stairs and was pleasantly surprised to find a small but spotlessly clean salon, they didn’t have rooms, just cubicles separated by curtains. The therapist introduced herself as Sarah, she was in her forties and immediately broke the ice by telling me she’d done this job for years and had seen more lady gardens than I’d had hot dinners so I wasn’t to feel embarrassed. She explained that there is a variety of options available for waxing, she went through each one to ensure I knew exactly what they entailed and what this would look like. The waxing wasn’t half as painful as I expected, but I think this was mainly down to the fact that Sarah was an absolute professional, she also had a streak of the perfectionist which meant no rogue hair was permitted to stay in a place it shouldn’t! It was quick, fairly painless and most of all I left looking great and feeling fantastic. I’ve never looked back, so my message to all you woman battling with excess hair, find a fabulous professional like mine! And don’t tell everyone when you do – otherwise you’ll never get an appointment!