Well, I hope you all enjoyed a very Merry Christmas!
Mine was mixed; there was a Great Moment, a Truly Disappointing Moment and a Tiny-Why-Can’t-You-Just-Keep-Your-Big-Gob-Closed Embarrassing Moment.
Truly Disappointing Moment: Needless to say, Santa didn’t deliver the goods.
There were chocolates and books under the tree, a pretty pink duvet set and Bon Jovi’s Greatest Hits, but no naked bloke, with or without a sense of humour, or a pulse.
I was gutted. Really.
And I blame the kids. If they hadn’t let Rudolph ‘escape’ on Christmas Eve, I’d have had bargaining power. But, oh no! I have to have the only teenagers in the country – no, the world, who aren’t rebellious! I had to breed teenagers with a social bleedin’ conscience! Ye Gods! They’ll be helping little old ladies across the street, next!
But what about me? I’m old and single, getting wrinklier by the second. Soon, the children will be gone, and I’ll be alone. My only friend, a steaming pile of reindeer poop and a dog with Special Needs.
Great Moment: I’ve been pimped! Actually, let me re-phrase that; my blog has been pimped by the lovely Bernie over at One Mixed Bag. Yo, sistah! Not only does she make me laugh, but she’s featured some really great blogs as well, so I’m honoured to be mentioned! Have just joined the Over 40’s Blogroll, and am looking forward to checking out some other blogs written by
wrinklies more mature and experienced peeps. 😉 Thanks, Bernie!
Tiny-Why-Can’t-You-Just-Keep-Your-Big-Gob-Closed Embarrassing Moment: I’m not much of a drinker. Seriously, I giggle after the first mouthful, and start slurring before I’ve finished one drink. It’s shameful, really.
Well, the boys and I headed off to our local for Christmas dinner, and I made the fateful mistake of having a vodka before eating. And not just one, but a double! One sniff of the hard stuff, and the world was a wonderful place.
‘Boys!’ I cried! ‘I luff you! C’m here so Mommy can kiss you, and hug you ‘cos I luff you!’
And that wasn’t even the embarrassing bit…
‘Oh, look! How funny!’ I screeched to a group of people at the bar. ‘My children are embarrassed because I’m a but squiffy! And I’ve only had half my drink!’
‘Arrr, you’m a cheap night out then, moi luvverrr!’ some old farmer replied. (Remember: this is Cornwall.)
‘I know!’ I cried. Again. ‘Can you believe I’m on my own? Really! I’m such a cheap date, I should be flooded with offers. Look, I’m all this fun after half a vodka! Jeeze! I’d prob’ly get naked after two!’
Honest to God, I have never seen a pub empty so fast.