After a hellish week, where America voted for a misogynistic loon with delusions of grandeur (because the alternative candidate was rubbish too). Of me continually coughing up things with legs for the 3rd week if not 4th! Of being completely tired out and pretty down in the dumps, I may (possibly) be seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.
Will it last? It’s easy to be optimistic on a Sunday from the sanctuary of a freshly made bed.
In other news. Bman has departed these shores for a mid-life crikey of a solo jolly to Thailand!
Yeah you heard me. Muthacluckin Thailand!
My feelings on the matter have been mixed, varied & changeable, truth be told.
I’m an understanding woman. I am actually quite laid back (AKA not always that bothered. Mostly because I’m lazy). I was upset and shocked when he told me he was going. Mostly because every other time we’ve gone on holiday, me or someone else has arranged it. I was slightly dumbstruck that he’d arranged it himself to be honest. I was more than a little peeved that I wasn’t consulted first. It made me think that I must be an absolute bitch of a curmudgeonly old dragon & that he was too scared to ask.
I’m not! I don’t actually mind. Mostly I’m envious if anything. It’s his own money. It’s his annual leave. It’s term time, so we couldn’t have done anything together as a family. Crikey! The ugly alternative would’ve been him being at home for 2 weeks, moaning that he’d got nothing to do. We’d have got on one another’s last nerve, for shizzle!
So, on the bright side (because there always is one – despite the unhelpful comments from some quarters) is that the bed is ALL MINE for a fortnight AND I won’t need to wear earplugs.
He only left this aft and I already painted the bedroom door & skirting boards. And, I’m hosting a small soiree on Saturday for some local gals & work pals. It’s going to be sophisticated & glamorous, like a Hildebrandt pin-up art painting. Except we’ll most likely keep our clothes on & will be unlikely to be wearing basques & stockings under our trackydaks or jeans.
In reality it may look more like this:-
…and I’m being polite here.
Hopefully we’ll have a fabulous time. Our hangovers won’t kill us & our selfies will be super sexy. Bman will come home safe without having been murdered by street tuffs; fleeced of his savings, his dignity or his health by ladyboy hookers; bummed to death on a beach, or fallen off or into anything. Worse case scenario, he gets the shits – which is pretty much a given.
He just best remember that he owes me big time. 2 childfree days in Brighton is not gonna cut the mustard. That was just an appetizer.
Ciao Bella MoFos