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?
