Winging It

 Another Monday has rolled inconveniently around. They have a tendency to do that, the rude things. I must confess that my brain feels like cotton wool this morning even post coffee, so this post will most likely sound like meandering gibberish. Which is quite similar to most of my posts really. Consistency is important. 

Over the weekend Mr 9 became Mr 10. He had a bowling party which he enjoyed. I must confess that that I find the wall of noise in those places quite challenging. I've only just got my hearing back. However, I'd find organising a party at home even more challenging. Couldn't organise a piss up in brewery. Or a meat raffle in a butcher's. Or an orgy at a nymphomaniac convention.  You get the picture. 

With this in mind, I decided to finally get with the 21st century and purchase a new phone so that I could start using the calendars and reminders and things to help me become more organised. Shut up. It could happen. I could possibly even take a selfie for the first time EVER. I know - I haven't even LIVED. Apparently people can't possibly live these days unless they take selfies every 17 seconds and photograph their food before they eat it, so that's how I've come to the conclusion that I haven't lived. 

However, I must confess that I STILL haven't worked out how to use the contraption. I did point the  thing at my face thinking I'd take a selfie and recoiled in utter horror. Do I REALLY look like that? I think there is a reason I've never taken one. Nobody needs to see that. 

In other scintillating news I had my first tit crushing experience last week which was quite painful bracing. I have to admit to being a big scardey cat and feeling quite anxious about it. But it was over with in a jiffy. As they say, Mammogramming your boobs is more important than Instagramming them. Not that there is any danger of me doing that. I can't even Instagram my face let alone my National Geographics. But yes - PETRIFIED before hand. You'd think nothing would scare you anymore after experiencing childbirth, right? WRONG.

Especially since experiencing childbirth usually means you now have children. Which is scary. Because you worry about them all the time. I must confess that after watching this report about a paedophile ring and all the media coverage about the Daniel Morcombe case recently that I've felt sickened and horrified. It makes me question all humanity and the wisdom of blogging at all. Sigh. 

Now I need to mention cake again quickly just to lighten the mood. CAKE. There, that's better. Yes, I did have a lovely cake filled weekend because of Mr 10's birthday and Micky Blue Eyes loading up with a few cakes from an old favourite cake shop we hadn't been to in years. He isn't helping my addiction. He is furthering it. I knew I married him for a reason. 

Anyway, it appears that there is a mountain of washing awaiting me to be put away so I had better end this gibberish here and get on with it. 

Later dudes. 

Linking up with Kirsty from My Home Truths for I Must Confess. 

                                      What is on your mind on this fine Monday morning?