Oh Dear

I’ve had a bit of a ‘day’ today. The sort of day where for the sake of my sanity I should have just stayed in bed and hidden under the duvet.

Ahead of going in to hospital on Monday I had to get some toiletries, wax strips to tackle my gorilla like legs and some hair dye to cover up my hair that make me look more 59 than 29… I decided to do both today in order to have tomorrow to panic and flap about in peace.

I slopped on my hair dye and sat reading peacefully until the 35 minutes (yes, my greys are very resistant!) had lapsed and I gratefully skipped upstairs to a scalding hot shower to unveil my new look. Of course it was only when I looked in the mirror whilst straightening my newly glossy ‘Pecan Nut’ locks that I saw it.

Brown splodges on one side of my face that are making me look like I’m trying to take Tyson’s crown as ‘owner of world’s worst tattoo’. And all this on a day when I’m due to be going to a party tonight.

But my day didn’t end there… I was walking into the kitchen when I felt something tickling my ankle, I shook my foot thinking it was probably a spider (and god forbid I eyeball one of those!) but it didn’t make a difference and so I looked down.

To see a receipt for tampons and milks stuck to an errant wax patch on my leg. I’m not sure where the hell it had come to but grateful that I was alone in the kitchen I ripped that bad boy off and hurled it straight into the bin!

My final fuck up came in trying to clean my car (for the first time ever) interiors before she goes for her MOT. I couldn’t find an extension cable so used a dustpan and brush, so far so good. I grabbed some anti-bac wipes and went at my dashboard like a demon however didn’t quite get the effect I wanted when I saw the wipes were leaving little fibres so decided to get a bowl of soapy water and do it properly.

There I am, kneeling on my front seat scrubbing away with my bum hanging out of the door and the bowl precariously balanced between me and the steering wheel (you can guess what’s coming right?) when Grandfather Landlord swung into the driveway in his Jag, scared the bollocks out of me and I dropped. the. bowl.

Yes, I basically threw a bowl of soapy bubbles all over the driver’s seat of my car. Fuck. And, due to the aforementioned lack of extension cable I couldn’t even use my hairdryer on that sucker!

So I’m off out tonight with some workmates and I’m driving. I’m just hoping it’s dark enough that they don’t see the new face tattoo I’m rocking, OR that I’m sat on a couple of binliners so I don’t get a cold wet arse!


2 thoughts on “Oh Dear

  1. Hello: I read with great interest the exploits of my counterpart, tall women.

    I feel very strongly about this issue and so have decided to launch a blog entited, “Short men caring for tall women.” I am also lauchimg a website and a Yahoo group page.

    Why? Many would ask, because for one I love women, they are my best friends on planet earth, and secondly, my love and great concern for the plight of tall women. As a short man and a tall women, we do have some serious issues in common–abuse–for one.

    I am a professional writer and a professor as well. My concerns have nothing to do with sexual content, but purily from a social view. When I read about tall women committing suicide as a result of being taller than most, my heart aches because the abuse they received was more than they could tolerate.

    Hoping to hear from you and or some of your readers. We short guys are not expected to ave a say, Eh?
    Best regards, Scott House.

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