Boobs and Bums; Best Forgotten...

I think I've finally grown up.  I had a bit of an Epiphany last night when we were having dinner with some of our closest friends.  I realised that I've stopped feeling as if a night isn't complete without a quick flash of an inappropriate part of my anatomy.  I'm not suggesting that I was contemplating baring flesh last night, more that I was aware, (as we fondly reminisced over many a boob-flashing moment), that I hadn't done it for ages and didn't really feel the need anymore.  A definite sign of ageing is that I'm beginning to forget why I found it amusing in the first place.  I make it a point of principle to refuse to be embarrassed about any of my previous behaviour (quite lucky, considering), but I do think now that there are better ways of showing off.

We're not just talking about random nights down the pub either, but quite monumentous occasions.  Zak's Godfather relished in reminding me last night that I flashed my pants at Zak's Godmother during the after-party of Zak's Christening.  Apparently there was 'some old man' in full view too, I dread to think who that was.

I got my boobs out on my wedding day.  It was nearly the shortest marriage in history. Granted, again, it was not during the service, but still, a topless bride in the classy establishment that is St. Michael's Manor regardless of whether it is 3am or not is not a good look!  Stu told me off on that occasion and I stropped off to bed only to realise that I was so tightly pinned into the remainder of my dress that I couldn't technically strop to bed without his help.  (Bridesmaids had long since ceased to be of any use.)

An ex-boss of mine still takes huge delight in reminding me of a curry we went for where I decided to dunk one of my breasts in the chicken tikka masala.  (Seriously, WTF?!)  As I recounted this particular story to Shelley and Tony last night I had a nasty creeping feeling that on top of that being really quite ridiculous behaviour already, I wasn't sure if it was actually MY chicken tikka masala in which the boob dunking occurred......

When I was in my mid-twenties I thought I would never change.  I was proud of my outrageous actions as they were what made me me.  Acquiring a husband however who didn't really stand for that sort of malarky took the wind out of my sails a little, as did becoming a local teacher, (can you imagine the headlines?).  Most importantly though, I would hate to think of Zak or Sebi having to bail out a half-dressed and decidedly sagging mother in the next decade as they are trying to find their feet socially in St Albans.  Time to keep myself fully buttoned up (well nearly) and think of some other ways in which to grow old disgracefully. ;-)

Ebay Doesn't Pay

I'm a bit of a closet ebay addict.  I think it is the gambler in me raising its ugly head again (I had a fairly short-lived but expensive flurry with fruit machines when I worked in a pub many moons ago).  I like the element of risk and the fact that sometimes some bit of junk that has been sitting in the back of my cupboard for a while can make me some cash.  Obviously, it doesn't always pay off.

I've been nagging Stu for ages to clear our his bulging wardrobes.  He is the King of hoarders and I am the most merciless clearer-outer; not a great combination.  I used to randomly clear out his cupboards and bin stuff when we first met but soon realised it was not worth the agro.  He would lament for days over a binned tape with three years worth of dust on it (we don't even own a bloody tape deck - GRRRRR!) looking at me as if he was a puppy I had kicked.  Painful.

Anyway, after years of training he is much improved.  (Why do I get the feeling this is one blog post I will not be prompting him to read.....?)  Ok, he is nowhere near my brutal standards (I regularly do an inventory of my wardrobe and if something hasn't been worn for a year, for whatever reason, it is gone), but, he does do a fairly regular clear-out.  This happened last week and suddenly there was a huge pile of (in some cases, hardly worn), designer clothes for charity.  Way too much temptation for this ebay-gambler and when filling the Children in Need bag, I found myself sifting off some of the cream of the crop for my own miserly gains.

Learn from my mistakes blog-readers, no good will ever come from stealing from charity.  Every sodding piece sold for a measly 99p!  Ninety-nine sodding pence.  What a load of hassle was then involved parcelling it all up and standing in a post-office queue with two distinctly non-patient small people to send this stuff off to some jammy designer-clothes-stealing bastards.  No point crying over it though.  Until, someone emailed me to complain about the Ted Baker shirt they had received (the day after winning it, just note the award winning service too please) and had paid 99p for.  Ebay can be a little bit like road-rage I find.  You behave suddenly in a completely un-civilised manner to complete strangers.  Apparently, although this stupid man had ordered the size I had clearly stated, it was a little tight around his chest as it was a slimmer fit than he had imagined and now it didn't fit, what did I want to do about it?  Feeling generous, I offered to refund him if he sent it back to me but apparently he didn't want to pay the postage and what did I want to do about that?  Erm, mainly nothing mate.  After fees etc, I had made about 50p on this purchase and I wasn't about to go into negative equity.  Apparently, I'm not a very helpful person.  I could've told him that on the first email.

Then there was the item I sold for £1.24 plus 70p postage a couple of weeks ago but forgot to put a stamp on the envelope so ended up refunding that poor chap the full amount as he had had to drive a long way to his post depot and pay a fee.  It hardly all seems worth it sometimes.

I had an email from one man when I was selling some high heels once however, who said he would bid on them if I would walk around with my smelly plates of meat in them for the week in which they were being auctioned as he had a 'used high heel fettish'.  Ewwwwwww..........

I think ebay and I just need to have some time-out from each other for a bit.  Well, until the next the time I'm having a snoop around inside some wardrobes anyway..... I'm joking Darling, don't go ballistic ;-)

Park Life

I think we peaked too soon in the first week of the summer holidays doing far too many exciting activities all at once.  Mummy has realised that if she is going to have enough wine money for her holiday we need to chill a little bit on the days out/lunches out/films.

So this week we have mainly being visiting parks.  It is the first time in five years of park visitations that I find myself able to sit on a bench for some of the time.  It may not sound much to you, but I'm finding it to be pretty life-changing.  One Mum gave me a very odd look this morning when I realised I had been staring at her from my bench in a pitying fashion for more than a socially acceptable amount of time as she endlessly walked her not-quite-walking child around and around the playground.  My time of that is over.  I'm nowhere near the glorious heights of bringing a book or a newspaper with me and just occasionally interacting with one of my offspring if there is an emergency of sorts, but, it is a serious improvement on last year nonetheless.

However, I don't know if it is my control freak nature, or my teacher-training, or just the fact that there are a lot of muppet parents around but I seem to pick up on 'situations' much faster than many of the other parents.  Zak and Sebi are not angels by any means but I like to think that if they aren't behaving then I am breathing down their necks before they have a chance to get seriously out of control.  Example, a six year old boy karate chopped Zak in the face on Tuesday morning while his Dad was walking the dog at least 50 metres away and didn't see.  I roared my most ferocious "How dare you!" at him and he shat his pants and legged it.  I toyed with chasing him back to the father (who was flirting outrageously with somebody who definitely wasn't the boy's mother) and letting him know what his son had just done but I ended up leaving it as Zak was fine, the boy wouldn't come back in a hurry and I couldn't cope with the idea of the incredulous disbelief from this Dad who has no idea what his kids are up to.

Children can be really mean.  Zak walked up to a boy and a girl yesterday morning to see if they wanted to play.  "We don't like you", said one little cherub; "Go away and leave us alone" said his sidekick.  Again, the parents were oblivious.  I told Zak to ignore them and play with Seb until his friends arrived.  Within twenty minutes Zak, Seb and their two mates were having a whale of a time and the nasty-snot-ridden-meany-peg boy had gone home leaving the little girl skulking around on her own.  Part of me was proud when she asked Zak if she could join in his game and he said "yes" without hesitation, though part of me wanted him to tell her to do one maybe with a teeny-tiny punch in the boobies.  He definitely gets his nice nature from Stuart.

We had a go at 'Play in the Park' this morning which is a couple of hours of FREE outdoor activities.  Seb is technically too little to join in but the (bored teenage) organisers didn't really seem to care so I let him loose with trepidation.  Sure enough, during a parachute game where Seb was meant to be a 'cat' crawling on top of the parachute catching the 'mice' he lay flat on his face in the middle and refused to move and so I had to crawl across the parachute and drag him off by his feet!

Hmmm, maybe caning £60 on a visit to the zoo doesn't seem like such a bad plan after all...