Waiting for a dump

Its been a funny old week. Not a particularly favourite time of year for me, to be honest, with all the lovey-dovey merchandising and happy ever after, hearts and smoochey, fluffy filled stories on the airwaves. What was it the infamous Morrigan once said to me? Oh yes… The quickest way to a man’s heart is straight through the rib cage with a sharp knife. Never tried it, but worth keeping in mind, me finks.  

So… those words of an unfortunate vision bring me, inappropriately, to what’s been giving me considerable thought for concern, this week; a friend going under the knife for colon cancer! Its a blessed relief to be able to pull meself up, ease up on the carpet burns, and jump for joy as the prognosis looks good. No pooper scooper required and if he has “a dump”, he’ll be able to go home soon. That’s proper soon, as in hours, not days or weeks! His wife text me to relay this important faecal status, saying she was so excited she just HAD to tell someone. Boy, am I glad I’d finished me chocolate chip cookies before receiving that nougat of information. Seriously, though, I really am over the moon, and squeezing me thoughts, hard, to give the poor fella a little help in motion.

Its times like this that make me realise what’s important in life. I got good friends, my freedom, and a sea-view, but I really wish I had someone special to give me a hug.

Slush Trading

There’s a kind a slush, all over the town, today.

All over the town you can hear the sound of muggers in shops

Well...

What else do you call it when flou’ers, choccies and slinkies are all hiked up to zillionaire price tags? Not the kinda rip off I was looking for, that's fer sure!

Happy Valentine's Day, for tomorrow, bloggers. x

Cold Feet

Gonna pass on this man, I thought I pulled. Told me best mate, he’s all hers, if she fancies a crack at him. She was not amused.

Just when I thought I was on me way to getting meself back in the saddle, so to speak, I got sidelined in favour of a game of footie.

Now, me best mate, who happened to save me from a death defying miserable life, is not only a willing slave to an entire pitch of fully grown men chasing a ball, she’s also really very clever, too. She knows how to explain the offside rule without condiments. Apparently, it’s not where the players are when the ball comes in to play, it’s where the players were when the boot went in! No skidding! Well, if a man wants to come calling, he best leave his boots outside, cos I don’t plan on clearing up after him or keeping him long enough for his footwear to get nicked from me doorstep.  

Anyhow, back to me dabbling with cupid. I figured me mate would be a much better match, in more ways than one, for this young stud. Luckily for me, she knows me better than I know meself, and she gave me a severe lecturing, steadfast and to the point, simply stating that I pull meself together and go get…

Yer see, all I really, almost definitively, really want is a bit of friendly, loving company from time to time. The time to time being: a few hours at weekends, occasional holidays and high-days, when all unhealthily attached men are safely off their expense accounts, and at home playing DIY. Believe you me, when you’ve admitted you’re unhappily married, going through a break-up, or “Just Divorced” you become a roaming beacon for every frustrated male on the entire planet.

Ma simple needs mean I no longer have many expectations, and I’ve said adieu to me furry tail dreams which have long since docked in a far off fantasy port. However, that doesn’t mean I wanna be a side order or sit around in an Argos style queue waiting fer me number to come up.

So… me current standing point is this: when I’m ready, willing and stable to jump in, I don’t just want a game, I want “it”

… and when I want “it”, 

I want “it”

NOW!

Pulled - I Fink

Today, I pulled, I fink, and managed to do it without getting me knickers in a twist.

Now, unlike many women, half me age, I’m not sitting here waiting for the charmer to call. Yes we did exchange numbers, and I’m typing me blog under the duvet in case the wind and rain get an inkling as to what I been up to. The only thing I know, for certain, is that he’s, allegedly, good with his hands and must be over the age of consent as he has a driving licence.  Phew!

So now I’m a pondering, should he pop by for a brew…

Am I expected to put meself on the sizzle block: before, after, or whilst the kettle is whistling to boiling point?