Bert: The epilogue?

Usual readers of the Blog will no doubt be intrigued by the title of this update.  Bert was, after all, the original inspiration for the Blog's creation but after many weeks of stalkerish like tendencies and, if we are honest, me having enough of too much unwanted attention (eventually), Bert was given his marching orders and, to give him his due, he marched.  At this point I should state that nothing ever went on with Bert and I , despite his best efforts, other than him invading my personal space on a regular basis.


Since this day, I have kind of lived with a sort of hesitation that I may see him when I am out and about and, like so many of the situations with Bert, I would have no idea how to deal with or handle this.  It must be coming on for three months since the last contact with Bert and I had probably got a little comfortable - I mean, if I haven't seen him out and about by now, then I probably won't....... right?


So, Little D and I went to a Christening and evening shindig last night and were partying the night away until 11pm (Little D is just coming up for 5 remember), I had thought she would have pegged out much before this, but no, that girl can party like the best.  We were actually the only people on the dance floor for quite some time.  In the back of my mind I had another one of those rules - "drunk women, always the first on the dance floor", although clearly this did not apply to Little D (I may let her stay up and party with the big kids once in a while but I draw the line at wine - before any of your start ringing the social).  


Fortunately for me, Little D then slept in until 9.30 - I was having some sort of nightmare that she would trot in at 6am but she is like her mother in more sense than one and so she was wanting her sleep.


I did not think I had drunk much - after all, I was responsible adult - but I did seem to wake up with a bit of a wine head this morning.... even Little D said "mummy do you have a wine headache" - I should stress that this has not come from any of my previous behaviour but more why I have explained to her why she cannot drink wine "because it will give you a headache".


I find it annoying that some nights you can drink four glasses of wine and be fine in the morning and yet on others you wake up with a "wine headache".... but hey


Once sorted we trolley-ed out to the supermarket to stock up on picnic stuff (we are off to the zoo tomorrow).  Little D decided today to take baby in her pushchair (that is a doll, I do not have an undisclosed child), which is fine but she does like to push the pushchair at the speed of light and, in the supermarket on a Saturday, it does mean I have one eye on my trolley and another on how many people she may potentially mow down, whilst barking directions of "left, right, will you just wait until it is your turn.... etc"


In the fruit and veg aisle (which is always full of people), heading towards the bananas (is this too much information?  I am scene setting.....) and I looked up (took my eye of Little D for one second) and saw the back of someone's head and this momentary panic hit me, inner monologue : "Oh holy fuck, it is Bert, I would know the back of that head anywhere (horrible curly hair) what do I do now" (remember, NOT equipped to deal....) and then, I saw something and the panic subsided......


....Bert, in his quite frankly disasterous, attempts to woo me had laid on a story about how he and his wife had split up, she was after his money, they still lived in the same house but separate lives.  It was not an impossible story (after all Tosspot was here for three months after he declared he was leaving), however, I did notice that Bert always wore his wedding ring, which is surely just odd if you are no longer with your spouse.  This was as far as it got in my head because to be honest, I didn't really care.


... so imagine how pleased I was in my momentary period of panic to see Bert with his WIFE.  You know, the wife he is no longer with...... I drew the conclusion that she was his wife for a number of reasons (not least his reaction when he saw me) but he looked a bit fed up (like a man who did not want to be in the supermarket on a Saturday lunchtime) and they were choosing fruit and veg together, pawing over it in fact. 


So, I saw him, he saw me.  I panicked, saw wife, stopped panicking because the world had then changed, I did not need to be equipped to deal with this kind of situation, he did.  I was very good, I directed Little D over towards the grapes and asked her to choose some because we all know how she felt about Bert and if she ran at him shouting his name and expecting him to pick her up, that, I suspect would be tricky for him to explain for the wife.


So me at the grapes, Bert at the bananas (they are about 6 feet apart) I looked at him and he looked at me, I looked from him to his wife and back to him and then raised my eyebrows with a smirk on my face.  He just starred at me with a pleading look as if to say "please do not come over and say hello or tell my wife I tried it on with you", and also, slightly shook his head whilst giving me this look. (I was enjoying this), I just cocked my head with my smirk on my face and turned back to Little D.


Of course, the thing about seeing someone you know in the supermarket is that you then continue to see them all the way round, at various different points.  He continued to look at me, I continued to ignore him outwardly but was laughing inside and also kept Little D on the straight and narrow with the pushchair and baby....


We left without any further contact but he must have been sweating it all the way round.... Little D is also quite loud and with me barking directions at her I suspect it made it easier for him to at least attempt to avoid the aisles we were in.


I can't wait for the next trip to the supermarket.......


What a tangled web we weave..... Bert


Also, did some drunk phoning and texting last night (seriously am I 17?).....  (not to Bert)

Norks and Running

So let's start with a question, how many long distance female runners do you see with big boobs?


exactly, not many are there....


If we think about the simple laws of physics then we can understand why


I also, have benefited from first hand experience of understanding why no-one above a C cup would choose to run any sort of distance at all.


I have had a number of issues in this respect, I might as well come clean, those of you who know me would have seen the size of my boobs so probably could work it out anyway, those of you who don't, what difference does it make if you know....  I am an F cup.


Since seeing the PT I have had three wardrobe malfunctions, whilst on the treadmill, involving my sports bra.  I am now on sports bra number 3  - which, to give it its due, it seems to be holding up. The previous two were the sort which you need a degree in engineering to get into, a kind of cross over straps, pull round your neck under and through.  Both of these, mid run, have suddenly gone ping and the strap has fired backward essentially leaving one boob bouncing around like a rabbit trying to get out a sack.  I have to hand it to PT, he slowed the treadmill down to a walk so I could try and sort myself out - would not let me get off, but did slow it down...


The new sports bra is one which is all one piece at the back and does up at the front, everything is secure and in place.  I have to be honest, I do have nightmares about what could happen if the front fasteners failed but its best we don't go there and so far we have not had to  phew.


The other issue with boobs  is what they actually, physically do whilst you are running.  When I run on the treadmill, because the gym is a special one which is only for use by PT's and their clients, there are no TVs to watch mid exercise..... instead the treadmill is directly in front of a mirror (I have asked if a small curtain or blind can be installed over said offending article but apparently not).  No-one wants to see themselves running, technique or not....


So I run, and can see myself in the mirror (aces).  All I can see is my boobs.  Even in sports bra they do a sort of figure of eight as I am running along - this is not good.  They sort of go up and down and round with every pounding step on the treadmill.  It is true and there if nothing I can to stop it.  I don't like looking at myself when I am running so I pick a spot on the floor and just stare at that.


I am naturally now hugely conscious that when I run outside my boobs are doing this merry figure of eight dance.  I swear if you watched them intently it would be almost hypnotising  lets hope no-one does that....


Fortunately, Race for Life..... women only event...


Fingers crossed the bra holds up......

Little D

I was having a bit of a "moment" this afternoon, nothing too traumatic, just one of those lulls in mood which sometimes happens for any number of reasons (we will not go into the specifics of today).


Little D has got a thing into her head (which I have not corrected) that if a boy and a girl kiss then they have to get married - a lovely view of life I think.


There was an onscreen kiss today and Little D looked at me, with that knowing look she does and says "they will have to get married" I said "yes they will" and then the conversation went like this:


Little D: You and my daddy got married
Me: Yes we did
Little D: Did you kiss daddy?
Me: Yes I did
Little D: Why did you kiss daddy?
Me: Because I liked daddy a lot
Little D: You loved daddy?
Me: Yes I did
Little D: You don't love daddy anymore.  
Me: Mummy and daddy are not married anymore
Little D:  I know, you don't love each other anymore.  It's ok mummy it's because I love you.


Bless her, always they say things like this when your mood is somewhat fragile anyway.


Then it went like this:


Little D:  Are you sad mummy?
Me:  A little bit
Little D: Why are you sad?
Me: I am probably just a bit tired
Little D:  Is it because you are missing your friend ?
(I mean seriously she is 4, how does she do this?)
Me: Maybe a little bit
Little D: Why don't you just go to your friend's house?
Me: I have not spoken to my friend
Little D:  Why don't you just phone your friend?




She has a point.  This simplistic view on life is probably one we should follow and nurture...


.... did I ring said friend, no I did not.  Needless to say it is more complicated than that and I am complex woman who thinks too much with bad, naughty inner monologue.....

Rules

I spoke to Mr Nice today, advised him that the blog was enquiring after him and my subsequent response.  Rather amazingly he did not seem to have any concerns about me blogging about him - see......... nice...........


Part of our discussion today - which we did laugh over - was the whole following the dating "rules" thing.  I think there are rules.  I cannot claim to know what many of them actually are, I like to think I know what some of them are, but suspect I have made them up.


One of the ones I follow for example is that unless I have something specific to ask, I will not text first.  Happy to reply and engage in chit chat, very much want to engage in chit chat, in fact, most put out when chit chat does not happen but..... will NOT text first..... Is this an actual rule?  Surely it can't be because when you look at it logically, if everyone followed this rule then no-one would ever text anyone except to ask what time tea was..... I possibly may want to reconsider this one....


I mention this because it was a "thing" this week.  Mr Nice has what we will call "Cave moments" (I bet he is regretting the permission thing now).  In that when he is very busy, the thing that he is very busy with gets all his focus.  This is a very good thing, but also a very bad thing - it means he cannot multi-task.  Arguably, he is a man and therefore multi-tasking would potentially not be on the agenda anyway but hey........


So busy busy man...... does not text Phantom.  Phantom does not next busy busy man (see rule above).  Almost 48 hours into this war of attrition, I then start having this inner monologue  - now, at this point, I suspect 90% of women reading this will be nodding and agreeing with me and all you men will be just shaking your heads in despair (I know this as it is in part how the conversation went with Mr Nice, his response was something along the lines of women being funny creatures)....


...so, the inner monologue, kind of bounced around like this:
He is busy, you know this
He has not text
Should I text
No you should not be the first person to text
He will get irritated
Maybe he is not OK and I should text
What if I create a reason to text to make it look like I have a purpose
He does not like me
He is busy
If he did not like you he would just tell you, you know this
What if he is in the hospital


I could go on but I think you get the idea....... and I would like to reassure men out there that this is not just me, I am not some total lunatic....I have scientific evidence to support this as follows:


Exhibit A:


Bridget Jones - we have all seen this.  The reason this film was such a hit is that in some way it rings true with all women.  They made an entire film about a neurotic woman in her 30s, disastrous in relationships, drinks too much and the whole film is based almost absolutely around her inner monologue.....


Exhibit B:


"Woman who think too much" - This is a book which someone bought me a few years ago (so before all this dating saga even became an issue, although perhaps given the events in my marriage I should have read it sooner).  They have written a whole book about women, over thinking and inner monologues.  They would not write a whole book just for me....


Exhibit C:


Someone I know has been with their other half for 40 years, married for most of that time and has three grown up children.  She recently said to me, she does not text her husband during the day when he is at work in case he thinks she is stalking him............ I know........ pause and read that again....... even I laughed at that one.......


But you see the point.....


Inner monologues are notoriously negative, nasty little buggers really.  I have decided in future to dowse mine with wine to try and improve its mood......


I think the inner monologue generally only causes issues in the early stages of anything, the need to be enticing I think, once we get comfortable the inner monologue focuses on something else... I think

Rowan's 48th birthday.......(or 42 depending on who you believe)

After arriving at Rowan's and changing out of my small uncomfortable pants (post wax) and picking off bits of green stringy wax from places that green stringy wax should not be, we were in full going out form.


We were being reasonably civilised - cinema, meal, "few" drinks.......in Barnsley...... whoop


After cinema, pub - which started well.  Rowan was like "oh look they have Rose wine" - it is true I am a Rose fan but it is a specific Rose.  I turned my nose up and made a NO face.  Which is when it all started (again).....


Rowan and Charlie generally like to mock me by calling me Posh, apparently it is because I am nicely spoken - which I am not.  Anyone who really knows me will know I am very much not posh..... but these two jokers do like to constantly go on about how "posh" I am.


...and not posh, just like a specific wine..... who doesn't?


So I opted for a Pear Cider (not posh), the bar wench asked Charlie (Charlie's round) if I wanted a glass to which the reply was "Oh yeah we had better get one because she is Posh"....... great.  But then they gave me a pint glass..... also not posh.


Did not drink cider quick enough before we had to go for meal so ended up necking most of it in one (I used to be able to do this quite well - pint of lager in 7 seconds, this was when I was young mind....) .  Necking of pint was follow by huge belch in the street - "Hello Barnsley" I was beginning to fit in...


Lovely meal, during which Rowan introduced me to the guy in the restaurant as "her posh friend from Harrogate", so for the rest of the evening he kept coming over asking if "the posh lady from Harrogate" was having a nice time........


So at some point during the meal I went for a wee, not that unusual I know.  Came back and Rowan had my phone in her hand and was laughing...... Oh.my.lord...... what has she done?  Truth be told, I knew exactly what she had done..... she had sent Mr Nice a text message....


The message went as follows: "Rowan and Charlie have learnt a new term tonight - husband bulge - they would like to know if you get one when you see me and if you have one now can you send a pic pls xx"


Brilliant.  There was no reply from Mr Nice, claims the battery had gone on his phone and he did not notice as he was tiling the kitchen floor..... I will let you decide if that was really the case.... after all, he knew I was out drinking and we all know mobile phones and drinking should be banned....


"Husband Bulge" - if you have seen Cabin in the Woods you will know this reference.  If not, you will probably work out what it is and to be honest, it is a brilliant term!!


We went back to the pub post dinner and had a jug of cocktail........ each.  I saved on washing up and drank mine out of the jug with a straw (glasses = over rated) - I was really fitting in at this point....


I did have that moment in the night when I woke up and knew I had been drinking cocktails if that resonates with any of you......  spent most of the afternoon lolling on the sofa.....bring on the next one

Mr Nice

Over the last couple of weeks a few of you lovely peeps have enquired as to the current status with Mr Nice.  What can I say, Mr Nice is still as nice as ever.  It is at this point I can say no more.  Whilst I am more than happy to blog about the ridiculous activities which I encounter most days within my own life, I feel I would have questionable ethics to blog about someone in detail who :


a) has not given me permission to
b) has the potential to be something or nothing
c) also reads the blog on occasion ;)


Sorry readers!!


I can say that I have learnt some things about myself along the way and I may blog about these one day x

Wax Lyrical

As most of you will now know, Husband and I split up about six months ago and life has been somewhat interesting ever since.  I have taken the opportunity to undertake the cliche of reinventing myself in some ways - personal trainer, Mr Nice, going out (when child care permits), hamster, house rabbit..... etc


There was another area I was keen to explore, am not absolute on why I had not explored this when Toss Pot was still around.  I guess it is one of those things that never really crosses your mind when you are comfortable...  Also, it could be that with my PT and weight loss (2.5 stone to date), I am more image aware - not in a Barbie sort of sense but more in a "I am not a dowdy fat cow" sort of sense.


So what are we talking about???  The bikini line...


Previously I had always had what I believe is termed the "basic" , what can I say, for some reason, the basic was just not good enough anymore.


Less is more and all that....


So have been a few times now for said beauty treatment - I cannot fathom why this comes under the category of beauty treatment because it certainly does not feel beautiful at the time.....


Any boys reading this, you are in for an eye opener.... you have no idea and I mean NO IDEA what us women go through.....


Firstly, it is advisable to wear very small or no pants when you are going for a wax.  Now, I cannot seem to get past the concept of wearing no pants so end up in very small uncomfortable pants (anything smaller than boxer shorts are small uncomfortable pants for me).  It is of course pointless, small pants or not you end up holding them out of the way of wax anyway...


In some ways it is almost like going for a smear test, in that you have to lie there in your small uncomfortable pants, legs akimbo so that the relevant areas can be accessed - it is not dignified it has to be said.


Wax is put on, wax sets, wax is pulled off...with any hair....it smarts a bit..... some bits more than others...


Muffin does my waxing, Muffin and I get on well and chat a lot when waxing (she does other beauty treatments for me also).  However, close call at last waxing session.  It is probably advisable not to chat to your beautician as she may forget what she is doing and in her excitement you may lose almost all of it....which is not what you wanted....I should say at this point Muffin is ace and marvelous beautician x


One particularly moment at the last session did see me yelp a bit and in a reflex action I pulled one leg up and over next to the other leg.  Which is a problem, when you have a load of wax on which you are waiting to set, because then you get stuck together......


Trying to separate yourself (with the aid of Muffin) when you have become stuck together is not easy and hurts, probably more than the proper waxing itself. Once again dignity is lost.


Similar issues occur when you inadvertently stick your small uncomfortable pants to your nethers and have to try and rip them off....


Straight from waxing went to Rowan's for birthday soiree, arrived at Rowan's and announced that I needed to change my pants (still sporting small uncomfortable pants at this stage)....... possibly not what she was expecting....