It's 7:48pm on a Friday night, and I have a cute but ridiculous 'Benefit' shower cap on my head...doing a hair treatment before I abandon my long dry hair to the mercy of the hairdressers shears. I am so tempted to go for a cute but crazy short crop, but then I think that in case it all goes wrong I might end up looking staid instead of edgy...more mummy and less scrummy...you know? Basically I'm chicken. One day I'll get up the nerve. I will.
Both boys are tucked in bed, relatively quiet (they think that i've come downstairs to fetch a storybook) and I have a whole Friday night stretched gloriously ahead of me. Our home is decked out in manifold pointsetta's (what can I say - went a bit crazy at the gardening place today), and due to our cleaners regular Thursday slot, our place is about as clean as it can be.
Today was the school Christmas fair, and like all the other mothers there, I shepherded my excited offspring round about the stalls, buying treats they didn't need, paying for raffle tickets that didn't win anything, and generally trying to make merry despite the crowds and my afternoon hankering for a cappuccino. Dumps was in his element as he toddled hand-in-hand with Egg around the school yard, nibbling on chocolate santas, and even shoplifting two lollipops (shamefaced I had to cough up the requisite 60 pence).
Once home the boys proceeded to eat their way through an alarming amount of sweeties from their xmas goodie bags, until I put my foot down, put some dinner on the stove and demanded they hand over their spoil until AFTER they ate something mildly nourishing. They obliged.
At any rate, I could go on and on, but instead I'm going to do something radical. I'm going to go and fill up the bathtub with Laura Mercier creme brule bath essence (divine), grab a novel I've been trying to finish for, oh at least three weeks now (and me a speed reader - the shame of it), and make like that lady in the commercial who washes all her cares away after a particularly stressful day.
If I time it just right, my loving husband will come trampling in just as I sink into the hot foamy bubbles, bark at me about what a stressful day he had, and ask what's for dinner. Given that I whipped up a linguine and rocket feast the other night, only to be rewarded by a sheepish confession that he'd stopped at the pub for four pints and followed that by a bag of chips (french fries to you North Americans)...I am sorely tempted to point him toward the big box of Sugar Puffs I have hidden in the cupboard. (On impulse I bought them the other day...not entirely sure why but they are bloody delicious! We were never allowed sugar cereals growing up so perhaps I'm rebelling against all the healthy peanut butter and boring porridge that was forced upon us day after day...)
Anyway, enough mindless chit-chat. Off I pop. Have a good one peoples....
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