Tag: A quirky look at ordinary life

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It’s not permanent is it?

Some years ago, I decided to have eyeliner tattooed. Yes, on my eyes. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

It was the worst sensation ever. I was trying to slide down the bed to get away from the lady administering this torture. She was hauling me back up by my ears.

She told me that I had to come back for round two a few days later. She sent reminders. I think I blocked and reported her.

On the way home I phoned a friend crying. Come here immediately she instructed, I have wine.

Despite this, I recently decided my eyebrows needed attention. Because, sadly, they are fading. Disappearing really. And they weren’t ever very evident to start with.

Yes… The lady said, I can see why you are concerned, I think we are going to do a Blade and Shade procedure here.

Will it hurt was my only query.

Apparently not. Lying bitch.

You have very strong skin she repeatedly told me. VERY strong. Have you ever been told that?

What, that I’m thick skinned? No…

What skin products do you use she asked, do they have retinol? I don’t know I replied, I’ll have to enquire with Take a Lot.

She looked mildly alarmed and I could see wanted to launch into how I really should take better care considering my advanced years.

She refrained. Retinol, she said, is very good for the skin, but fades the eyebrows. Who knew?

So much to fret about.

Oh dear, she said, I’ve dropped some of the ink on your cheek. It wouldn’t stain normally, but you have an extraordinary amount of fuzz on your face, I’m just going to shave this bit.

Here is your care kit she said. Try and not get your new eyebrows wet.

What, forever? They are on my face.

Just warn your partner she said, tomorrow they will be very dark, and then they will fade a bit. Oh yes, they may scab. Let me know in a month if you need a touch up (not likely to hear from me again).

Sure enough, when I bought my lovely man his morning cuppa, he definitely recoiled.

Don’t expect to see me around too much.

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Wake up!

My lovely man has sleep apnea. Not recommended.

He LOVES to sleep. If I take my eye off him for 5 minutes, he’s inclined to doze off. So… I have to give him things to do. He doesn’t appreciate this as much as one would expect.

He is also inclined to nightmares the poor soul.

Luckily for him, I’m inclined to broken sleep, so I hear him gasping. I’m sure there is no connection between his nightmares and my helpful inclination to say ‘darling, wake up and roll onto your side, you’re gonna die otherwise’

I’m not sure what single people with sleep apnea do, do they even know?

Anyway, getting this sorted out is a bit of a process. Back and forth to specialists.

It also involves connecting him up to sleep with various apparatus. First to diagnose, then to determine what CPAP thingie and mask is required.

Quite complicated.

These things measure whatever while he sleeps. Our snoring, gasping, wheezing and farting is all now a matter of public record and in the cloud God help us.

Our biggest concern has been that this dear woman who is measuring all this now knows what time we retire at night.

When she was explaining to us she made ridiculous statements like ‘so when you go to bed, at say 10pm..’

We glanced at each other at that point…

So…. The hardest thing during this process is to stay up past our normal bed time.

Despite our efforts, she gives us a sweet little smile and shoulder squeeze.

She knows we are pathetic.

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Time saver tips

I met with a friend a little while ago. Luckily she’s not on social media, doesn’t know about my posts and general indiscretion.

She’s a very busy girl. Show me an unbusy person these days… It’s all relative isn’t it? Life is hectic.

Anyway..

She was relaying a story about a guy she went out with when she was much younger. A very nice bloke she was at pains to tell me. Until…. She woke up in the middle of the night and he was fiddling with her and trying to have his way… I know, horrifying.. This, apparently, was his preferred sexual encounter.

Surprisingly, the relationship didn’t last. ‘Is it because…’ he asked when she ended it. ‘No, no’, she said (what do you think buddy?)

I look back on it now, she continued.. And it seems very efficient. I mean, I might have to drug myself so that it wouldn’t disturb my sleep, but I would be able to tick my to do list before my first cup of coffee.

Look him up, I suggested helpfully, he would probably sponsor the drugs.

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Oh, you don’t want to do that..

I recently had to fly somewhere. 

For some reason, they upgraded me to business class. They have done this a few times.  I am unworthy, but grateful. Hey ho. 

Of course, I feel like a bit of an imposter… Because, you know… I ain’t paying those prices and presumably everyone else has. 

My temptation is to ask everyone around me if they’ve also been upgraded. But… I resist this. 

I accepted my moist, warm towel like a pro. 

So, I try and fit in by being an arsehole. For instance, I insist that they close the curtain between us and the poor people. I also complain about the superior food and real cutlery and demand a brand of whisky that no-one has heard of. I don’t drink whisky.

You know… Showing my class. 

They now ask everyone to put their gadgets on aeroplane mode. They’ve given up asking everyone to switch everything off, have you noticed?  We watch a lot of aircraft disaster investigations and I’ve never seen the report indicating that the plane went down because someone left their Bluetooth earbuds on.  Still…. I glowered at the fellow who put his fancy Bose headphones on.  I took a picture of him in case we went down and then they would know why.

Then the air steward fellow told some lady that her bag was too big to be stowed at her feet. He took five minutes to wrestle it out. We were all astounded that she managed to get it into that space in the first place. And where had she put her feet even? When he man-handled it to a storage place the plane tipped with the weight. I swear it was one of those bales of clothing the generous European people send to Africa to clothe us. Bless them. 

Clearly a lucrative business because she was in business class. 

Then… I didn’t know what to do with my toothpick. It’s an awkward thing to give someone to dispose of, isn’t it? Can’t just hand it to anyone… Even if you are business class.

So… And I warn you to stop reading now… 

The lovely fellow (paying) in the seat next to me had had a juice. So.. I leaned over a wee bit and shoved my toothpick down the little straw. He was dozing. 

I thought he had finished it; it was in the seat pocket! 

To my horrow he removed it to have a last suck of remaining juice. 

That’s gonna hurt I thought.. 

I stopped him. 

I don’t think they’ll upgrade me again. This guy has put in a word. 

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Happy birthday girls

My mother would have been 81 today. We lost her when she was 46. So, today, as I do most days, I mourn the loss of my extraordinary mother.

Today is also the birthday of one of my little fur babies. Bella pup. She is 9. Actually, I am not sure her exact age or birthday, as I had to estimate it. But, I chose it to fall on my mum’s birthday.

My lovely man is very kind to all the little animals I impose on him. It’s difficult to say if he has a favourite, but he certainly has a soft spot for dear little Bella.

Bella has selected to sleep at the top of the bed, between our pillows. Her little head on my lovely man’s pillow. I get the arse end, I’m not sure if you picked that up. She gets a little kiss on the head from him good night. I refrain from kissing the bit next to my face.

The other day she had a dodgy tummy and we listened to it rumbling something terrible. It was still rumbling like crazy when we retired to bed and she settled into her spot.

As I went off to shower, we glanced at each other and the unspoken thought was ‘is she gonna shit the bed?’

I climbed into bed, my lovely man tenderly stroking her little face and he announced…. ‘you might want to sleep facing the other way, she’s farting like a dragon’.

No thought of removing her from the vicinity. Isn’t he the loveliest?

Happy birthday mum and Bella. We count our blessings for our lovely fella.

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The continuing bee saga

You may remember our attempts at bee keeping. Apiculture for those in the know.

We are far from in the know. A few You Tube videos and we were thoroughly daunted and reaching for the wine.

Our newly purchased hive was attracting nothing, until we put it in the garage and it became the location of choice. Making getting in the car hazardous.

So… We moved them all out the garage into the common area corner of our complex. As a result of my fear of my dear Alfie pup enraging them into a killing frenzy if they were in the garden.

The entrepid Mandova maintains them somewhat. Making sure water is available and that there are lots of pebbles to sit on so that they don’t drown.

I am learning so much about all the animals you take in and I have to look after Mandova advised me. I’m sure with gratitude for the opportunity.

Just as we did this and beamed at each other proudly as to how they were thriving, some of the gorgeous young mums in the complex invested in and built a playground for the little ones in same common area.

What could go wrong we thought.

Maybe if we tell the mums and kids to stay away from the hive my lovely man suggested.

Have you met a toddler I replied.

So… We have given away our hive and some bee fellow took it and most of the bees away in the dead of night.

Supervised, of course, by our self named Estate Manager, Mandova.

Some anti histamine was required. The less said about that the better.

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Yes, there’s a parallel here

I’m reading a book at the moment called ‘The Running Grave’ . Actually I’m listening to it on Audible. What a blessing audible books are.

Anyway, it’s very gripping. It’s about the goings on in a cult.

I’ve not had a lot of experience with cults. I don’t think a cult would tolerate me for too long. I’d either be expelled or locked up in a box until I realised the error of my ways.

It occurred to me, as I gazed across the lawn at the tortoise antics and listened to their bellows, that we are, in fact, housing a cult.

There’s a great deal of free love going on.

Even battered old Tamara is getting her fair share. And honestly, I’ve considered getting her adult diapers.

Incontinence, it appears, is of no consequence. Tamara, the hottie, is rocking it.

I’m considering playing something from Woodstock for them, it seems fitting.

My lovely man, watching this lot, commented ‘inspiring’. And then he gave a little roar.

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Steady on….

When we saved grumpy, ungrateful Tommy the tortoise from a likely end of being a snack over a fire, he patrolled the garden perimeter relentlessly, presumably trying to find a way out.

I worried that he had a family to get back to. He was not saying.

My research indicated that they are generally solitary creatures and that he would be fine.

Still I fretted.

Turns out my friend has an excess of tortoises. This, in fact, is a thing.

So… Timmy and Tammy arrived. I laid out the snacks and did the introductions.

With not so much as a how’s your father, Tommy mounted Tammy.

Oi, she cried, I’m just having a bit of nibble on this cucumber.

I’m not sure there is hashtag me too in the world of tortoises, but if so, Tommy is bloody Harvey Weinstein.

However, it’s cheered him up no end, and he gave me a little wink and nod of approval I swear.

Sadly, as soon as he had finished with dear little Tammy, he set his sights on Timmy and nudged him over onto his back.

This too is a thing. Turn the competition over and be done with them.

So, now we spend our days finding Timmy and rightening the poor little soul.

Timmy has assured me he’s in the friend zone with Tammy, he just needs to persuade Tommy.

Then Tamara arrived. An old, somewhat battered duck is our sweet Tamara. She’s even bigger than Tommy and has old injuries. Looks like she’s been run over by a truck at some point.

We have welcomed her into the bossom of the household and she seems quite happy.

I even had a house built for them. They hate it.

As it turns out, previously suspected asexual Timmy, has fully embraced Tamara.

Mandova called me from my desk to witness the antics.

Rumble in the jungle indeed. Pint size Timmy is vocal in his passion for much larger, Cougar Tamara.

I can tell you for nothing there’s a lot of action in this household.

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What skulduggery is this now

Some time ago a fellow knocked on our door and asked me if he could have the details of my lovely man’s Interpol contact because he had been sold something that turned out to be stolen (and not functioning, which was perhaps the bigger issue).

Darling, I enquired, how on earth do you have Interpol contacts (best I can do is the Douglasdale police station), and what espionage are you involved in?

Also, I continued, this can be added to the alarmingly long list of things NOT disclosed prior to our involvement.

Turns out my lovely man is not connected to Interpol, or New Scotland Yard or any of that ilk.

I’m not sure, he advised our hopeful and somewhat misinformed visitor, that they would much bother with that kind of case. They would probably just arrest you for buying stolen goods.

They would surely be interested he objected, I can finger the thieves.

Well, too tempting isn’t it….

I’m not sure it will matter how confident you are in satisfying the thieves I advised him, they are likely to lock you up.

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On this day….

Do you diarise things? I like to diarise things.

A few years ago, a friend said to me with some exasperation ‘Stop reminding me every year that this is the day I got divorced, you really need to move on’.

No appreciation really.

I only diarise important things mind, I don’t want you to think I’m fanatical.

For example, on this day two years ago, we bought our vacuum cleaner.