So 2011 is over and all and sundry are tooting to 2012. And with that everyone is contemplating and considering the prospects. As per normal you've got the usual suspects asking the introspective "what are your plans for 2012"?.
My answer : Survive it. Plain simple and completely honest.
Every New Years eve his majesty and I have our NYE boudoir conference (this is where all our good chats happen) and reflect on the last 365 days and how we fared.
Must say 2011 was a doozy. Again. Nothing gets easier it seems.
But it beats the year of THE NEW JOB (mine)
The year of HIS MAJESTY's KIDNEYS BEING BROKEN (shocker being 22 and thinking I was going to lose my husband)
The year of HYPERTENSION (mine)
The year of FINDING OUT WE COULDN'T HAVE KIDS (and finding out I wasn't the broken one)
The year of HYPERTENSION (mine)
The year BENTLEY DIED ( I loved that silly dog more than chocolate!)
The year of HYPERTENSION (mine)
The year of NEARLY LOSING HIS MAJESTY (watching my soulmate lose 20kgs in a month and being at deaths' door for the better part of twelve months)
The year of HYPERTENSION (mine)
The year of THE MISCARRIAGE (awful - saving this for another chat when I have more energy to use the tissues)
The year of HYPERTENSION (mine)
The year of DUMB THINGS JUST HAPPENING ONE AFTER ANOTHER (oh wait, that's every year if your name is Tiffany!)
The year of THE MOVE
But although terrible, heinous and all round kak to deal with there has also been :-
The year WE SAID I DO (I look back at the pictures and we seem so young!)
The year WE BOUGHT OUR FIRST HOUSE ( we had sex in every room just for good measure)
The year of BENTLEY (our pseudo-baby furry person wannabe)
The year of BUYING A BRAND NEW CAR OUTTA THE BOX (which I pranged the same day in our own yard! I just want to hide under a stone every time I think about it!)
and my personal favourite the year IMOGEN ARRIVED! (no topping this one!)
I have learnt that life seems to dish us equal parts of bad and beautiful. I surmise it's just our ability to meditate on either side of the scales that makes a year either good or bad. Our reactions to the ebb and flow of circumstance.
So my resolution would have to be optimism. But always with a good measure of realism and sarcastic spunk to keep his majesty laughing. As long as one of us is happy then it's all good right!
To you and yours I say just get on with it and live it without the endless pondering and planning, heck, it's over too soon. Smile more, eat less and live better.
Much love
Toodles
1 January 2012
22 December 2011
Happy Birthday to me
Turned 32 today. Must admit it doesn't feel any different to 31. Ask me next winter when the aches and pains of injuries inflicted in my youth kick in.
Special day. What I thought was going to be a sedate tea and cake with a few family members turned out to be a very hush-hush gathering of mates near and dear, all of whom I thought were busy with Christmas and families if their own.
Spoilt rotten. Again. His majesty gets better at this year after year and I am always left feeling like a queen, albeit for a day. The elves come at midnight to fetch the pumpkin and tomorrow I am back to a mere commoner.
But, his majesty is on leave until mid-January so I can ease off the childcare a bit and maybe get a break in myself.
Three more sleeps 'til Christmas. Then it's another round of presents and family and fellowship.
I blame my parents for being hippies and having me during the festive season but I get to be showered with stuff, barely find place to pack it all and then it'd round 2.
Lucky me.
Now off with you all to baste turkeys, bake gingerbread cookies and overdose on sellotape and tinsel.
Toodles.
Special day. What I thought was going to be a sedate tea and cake with a few family members turned out to be a very hush-hush gathering of mates near and dear, all of whom I thought were busy with Christmas and families if their own.
Spoilt rotten. Again. His majesty gets better at this year after year and I am always left feeling like a queen, albeit for a day. The elves come at midnight to fetch the pumpkin and tomorrow I am back to a mere commoner.
But, his majesty is on leave until mid-January so I can ease off the childcare a bit and maybe get a break in myself.
Three more sleeps 'til Christmas. Then it's another round of presents and family and fellowship.
I blame my parents for being hippies and having me during the festive season but I get to be showered with stuff, barely find place to pack it all and then it'd round 2.
Lucky me.
Now off with you all to baste turkeys, bake gingerbread cookies and overdose on sellotape and tinsel.
Toodles.
16 November 2011
Fashion Faux Pas
I don't get the fashion these days. I have sadly fallen into a clothing abyss which has rendered my present wardrobe a collection of jeans, boots and functional tops. Mom camo I call it. Heck most of the time I'm too tired to care what I'm wearing. Too poor to shop better and anything I own is destined to be fouled by the inevitable banana smear that won't come out.
On a rare moment of solace, I took the time to browse the mall and was so bewildered by the 5th shop! What madness has overtaken the planet? Are all the retailer buyers doing acid during lunch because nothing seems to be made with me in mind. mWhat trippin' fool decided that Mercurochrome orange is the colour de jour this summer? Unless you have a deep, cancer-inducing tan you just look jaundice, or at least I do. Am I the only one?
The trends have all gone elasticated-ankles on us. Unless you're built like Madonna, it just looks doff. And why on earth would someone want to marry workout gear with the hallowed jean in the first place? Does Levi know of this travesty? I'm sure there are photos stashed in an old biscuit tin of my mother sporting this look in the late seventies and I am of the firm opinion that some trends go away to die in shame and this must be one of them. I also nominate the ever appearing catsuit be cremated too! Argh, they are awful. They are now making them in a hot-pant version so not only am I treated to a camel-toe exhibition but it now comes complete with a cellulite sideshow! Unless you're built like a stick insect in which case I'm just jealous so could you please stop parading your perfect body around me and go and eat a doughnut!
Know you limits I say. I would never don a micro-mini knowing that my legs are on the "heavy" side and I just end up looking like a plus-size hooker. So why are big girls wearing leggings (another nemesis!)? They must take forever to get dressed - hours in a hot bath, melting their thighs down to pour them into pants that are too tight! They always end up looking like they've got a corset on their bums! Now don't misunderstand me, I am not dissing the curvy among us, I am merely observing that just because its being sold in a size 40 doesn't mean it looks good.
About sizing. I have an issue with this. Mr Price would get a whole lot more of my patronage if they adjusted their clothing back to "real people" size! Most times I've got to take a 14! Not very good for my fragile, female ego. Hell, if I fitted into anything labelled 30 I would by seven in every colour they had just for the rush every time I got dressed.
Incidentally I was trawling the factory shop mecca in the south and ambled into a real swishy label outlet and the kind assistant asked if she could help. I said yeah sure I'm looking for jeans, I'm usually a 32/34. Then she committed the ultimate sin and handed me a 30! I told her I was flattered that she gauged me to be so skinny but that they wouldn't fit. She just winked and said huskily "just try them on would you". OMG, they fitted and I was shrieking in euphoria in the change room. I had a total Heidi Klum moment. Sadly they were too short (I am a rather tall animal - at least that's what everyone tells me) darn darn darn! But yikes it was lekker for a nanosecond. And ding dong...Vanity sizing.
This made think back to my aunt visiting from Canada a few years back and blowing the lid off what they term vanity sizing! A concept I can't say I'm against. So in South Africa you're a 10, in the UK you're a 12, in North America you're a 2 (mercy me!) but in China you're still a XXXXXXXXL! Like I say, wouldn't you want to stock up clothes labelled in Barbie size? Good way to start the day. Cheaper than cocaine. I still can't figure the size zero girls. What size is a zero anyway? Are these real people or do they inhabit lala cuckoo-land (again, just jealous!).
I am no fashionista. Post-partum I struggle to find anything vaguely flattering. It's like revenge of the body snatchers. Let's just say that bits and pieces didn't quite go back to where I expected them to. In a nutshell I ended up boobless with a muffin top! The King gets so mad at me because at the beginning of every season I just hit the cheapest outlet and pick up 5 t-shirts in different colours and choose a new skirt or two. I wish the cast of What Not to Wear lived in cupboard. I worship the ground Trinny and Susannah walk on. I must just add that it's no fun going clothes shopping solo. I need another bundle of oestrogen to tell me how wonderful I look and hear those coveted words " you have so gotta buy it!".
I need a new cozzie and funnily enough today I was chatting with 2 mates about this. You see I talked my dearest mama into buying a magic costume. She looks fabulous in it too. Basic black and I imagine her in her sunnies and wide-brimmed hat doing a Sophia Loren at the poolside. Now she's lucky. She's got a killer pair of pins and since having her gall bladder removed a year ago has lost a million kilograms! I am going to have to eat humble pie, gird my loins and go and try one of these cozzies on for myself. Sauce for goose and all. I am just weary that the science behind the costume will "magic" all my bits inside it. It's the bits on the outside I'm worried about. Perhaps I could suggest that they make an ankle-to-armpit version? They could make it all flesh toned and just make the cozzie bit a colour. Anyone got contacts at Woolworths? And as I write this the King quips from the sofa that if all else fails I can always just wear my scuba wetsuit!
As always, we can't all be perfect.
On a rare moment of solace, I took the time to browse the mall and was so bewildered by the 5th shop! What madness has overtaken the planet? Are all the retailer buyers doing acid during lunch because nothing seems to be made with me in mind. mWhat trippin' fool decided that Mercurochrome orange is the colour de jour this summer? Unless you have a deep, cancer-inducing tan you just look jaundice, or at least I do. Am I the only one?
The trends have all gone elasticated-ankles on us. Unless you're built like Madonna, it just looks doff. And why on earth would someone want to marry workout gear with the hallowed jean in the first place? Does Levi know of this travesty? I'm sure there are photos stashed in an old biscuit tin of my mother sporting this look in the late seventies and I am of the firm opinion that some trends go away to die in shame and this must be one of them. I also nominate the ever appearing catsuit be cremated too! Argh, they are awful. They are now making them in a hot-pant version so not only am I treated to a camel-toe exhibition but it now comes complete with a cellulite sideshow! Unless you're built like a stick insect in which case I'm just jealous so could you please stop parading your perfect body around me and go and eat a doughnut!
Know you limits I say. I would never don a micro-mini knowing that my legs are on the "heavy" side and I just end up looking like a plus-size hooker. So why are big girls wearing leggings (another nemesis!)? They must take forever to get dressed - hours in a hot bath, melting their thighs down to pour them into pants that are too tight! They always end up looking like they've got a corset on their bums! Now don't misunderstand me, I am not dissing the curvy among us, I am merely observing that just because its being sold in a size 40 doesn't mean it looks good.
About sizing. I have an issue with this. Mr Price would get a whole lot more of my patronage if they adjusted their clothing back to "real people" size! Most times I've got to take a 14! Not very good for my fragile, female ego. Hell, if I fitted into anything labelled 30 I would by seven in every colour they had just for the rush every time I got dressed.
Incidentally I was trawling the factory shop mecca in the south and ambled into a real swishy label outlet and the kind assistant asked if she could help. I said yeah sure I'm looking for jeans, I'm usually a 32/34. Then she committed the ultimate sin and handed me a 30! I told her I was flattered that she gauged me to be so skinny but that they wouldn't fit. She just winked and said huskily "just try them on would you". OMG, they fitted and I was shrieking in euphoria in the change room. I had a total Heidi Klum moment. Sadly they were too short (I am a rather tall animal - at least that's what everyone tells me) darn darn darn! But yikes it was lekker for a nanosecond. And ding dong...Vanity sizing.
This made think back to my aunt visiting from Canada a few years back and blowing the lid off what they term vanity sizing! A concept I can't say I'm against. So in South Africa you're a 10, in the UK you're a 12, in North America you're a 2 (mercy me!) but in China you're still a XXXXXXXXL! Like I say, wouldn't you want to stock up clothes labelled in Barbie size? Good way to start the day. Cheaper than cocaine. I still can't figure the size zero girls. What size is a zero anyway? Are these real people or do they inhabit lala cuckoo-land (again, just jealous!).
I am no fashionista. Post-partum I struggle to find anything vaguely flattering. It's like revenge of the body snatchers. Let's just say that bits and pieces didn't quite go back to where I expected them to. In a nutshell I ended up boobless with a muffin top! The King gets so mad at me because at the beginning of every season I just hit the cheapest outlet and pick up 5 t-shirts in different colours and choose a new skirt or two. I wish the cast of What Not to Wear lived in cupboard. I worship the ground Trinny and Susannah walk on. I must just add that it's no fun going clothes shopping solo. I need another bundle of oestrogen to tell me how wonderful I look and hear those coveted words " you have so gotta buy it!".
I need a new cozzie and funnily enough today I was chatting with 2 mates about this. You see I talked my dearest mama into buying a magic costume. She looks fabulous in it too. Basic black and I imagine her in her sunnies and wide-brimmed hat doing a Sophia Loren at the poolside. Now she's lucky. She's got a killer pair of pins and since having her gall bladder removed a year ago has lost a million kilograms! I am going to have to eat humble pie, gird my loins and go and try one of these cozzies on for myself. Sauce for goose and all. I am just weary that the science behind the costume will "magic" all my bits inside it. It's the bits on the outside I'm worried about. Perhaps I could suggest that they make an ankle-to-armpit version? They could make it all flesh toned and just make the cozzie bit a colour. Anyone got contacts at Woolworths? And as I write this the King quips from the sofa that if all else fails I can always just wear my scuba wetsuit!
As always, we can't all be perfect.
9 November 2011
Why do we do it?
I am by no means a model mother. In fact I am still waiting for the zen-earth-mother-experience to set in!
Her majesty is onto that testing stage. Old enough to babble, too young to be understood. I akin her frustration to that of stroke victims whose minds are still able but whose tongues are unwilling.
Not a day goes by that I don't consider quitting. Motherhood ain't for sissies and God only knows why I signed up for it full time. I must be some kind of stupid. Or secretly made of tough stuff I just haven't discovered yet.
I wonder how my mother muddled through without killing my sister and I at toddlerhood! But I can now relate to her then perceived moods.I commented to a friend on Facebook the other day that I wonder how people have more than one child. Are they mad????? Are they daft???? Are they seriously gluttons for punishment or did I miss some cosmic memo that promises a pot of gold and a day off?
I have learnt/am learning that children are embarrassing. Until they are old enough to understand social graces and decorum they basically make you cringe in a corner picking snot off their fingers with a smile on your face whilst hoping nobody noticed that they discovered the all-you-can-eat buffet up their noses.
Her majesty has just taken to licking the grass in our back garden. Hello? We have four dogs ranging from ankle height to jugular range. And they poo and pee all over the place. Why on earth would she want to ingest it? Is this normal? And yet I am often tempted to let her do it and get it off her to-do-list! Eat poo - check. Stick fingers up dogs' bum - check. Pull wings off a fly - check. Madness.
And all this being said I am thankful that I am surrounded by many other women at a similar life stage whose kids are being just as gross if not worse. Phew, thank heavens for that. While everyone is watching little Fred doing a Picasso likeness with his own poo, they haven't noticed that my princess has walloped an unsuspecting child with the xylophone and then dropped it for something seemingly more interesting. Attention span of a gnat!
I envy all those women swanning around in perpetual serenity. How do they do it? Do they have a closet drinking habit to help them cope because they must be doing something and you can't tell me they rely on the power of prayer and meticulous journal keeping. Lies lies lies I tell you.
In an effort to up my parenting ante I invested in the Supernanny book. I hold it in very high esteem. For a woman who has no training or children of her own she sure has the toddler brain sussed. Her techniques really work, if you have the inner strength to see it through. We now have a naughty spot and it works so well I am sometimes tempted to banish the king to it! Don't judge. It works for our family but it may not work for yours.
Life is fraught with struggle I am learning and for the most part I can take it all in my stride. I have a frustratingly understanding husband who is ever patient. But some days the wheels come off and I run out of funny. That obscure moment when you instantly lose the ability to laugh at yourself and situations and crumble like a cracker. This happens often too. I swear when I had my Caesar the doctor removed my coping mechanism!
But like all other full time moms I wouldn't change it for the world. I am tired all the time. I haven't had a full night's sleep since 2009. I can't remember when last the king and I went on a date. My beloved pets have been downgraded to just being dogs. I tend to bark orders like a Sgt, Major and have discovered my "Mommy Voice". I am a terrible person but this is what having children does to you.
PS. I think my bum is getting bigger. As if I don't have enough to worry about.
Toodles
Her majesty is onto that testing stage. Old enough to babble, too young to be understood. I akin her frustration to that of stroke victims whose minds are still able but whose tongues are unwilling.
Not a day goes by that I don't consider quitting. Motherhood ain't for sissies and God only knows why I signed up for it full time. I must be some kind of stupid. Or secretly made of tough stuff I just haven't discovered yet.
I wonder how my mother muddled through without killing my sister and I at toddlerhood! But I can now relate to her then perceived moods.I commented to a friend on Facebook the other day that I wonder how people have more than one child. Are they mad????? Are they daft???? Are they seriously gluttons for punishment or did I miss some cosmic memo that promises a pot of gold and a day off?
I have learnt/am learning that children are embarrassing. Until they are old enough to understand social graces and decorum they basically make you cringe in a corner picking snot off their fingers with a smile on your face whilst hoping nobody noticed that they discovered the all-you-can-eat buffet up their noses.
Her majesty has just taken to licking the grass in our back garden. Hello? We have four dogs ranging from ankle height to jugular range. And they poo and pee all over the place. Why on earth would she want to ingest it? Is this normal? And yet I am often tempted to let her do it and get it off her to-do-list! Eat poo - check. Stick fingers up dogs' bum - check. Pull wings off a fly - check. Madness.
And all this being said I am thankful that I am surrounded by many other women at a similar life stage whose kids are being just as gross if not worse. Phew, thank heavens for that. While everyone is watching little Fred doing a Picasso likeness with his own poo, they haven't noticed that my princess has walloped an unsuspecting child with the xylophone and then dropped it for something seemingly more interesting. Attention span of a gnat!
I envy all those women swanning around in perpetual serenity. How do they do it? Do they have a closet drinking habit to help them cope because they must be doing something and you can't tell me they rely on the power of prayer and meticulous journal keeping. Lies lies lies I tell you.
In an effort to up my parenting ante I invested in the Supernanny book. I hold it in very high esteem. For a woman who has no training or children of her own she sure has the toddler brain sussed. Her techniques really work, if you have the inner strength to see it through. We now have a naughty spot and it works so well I am sometimes tempted to banish the king to it! Don't judge. It works for our family but it may not work for yours.
Life is fraught with struggle I am learning and for the most part I can take it all in my stride. I have a frustratingly understanding husband who is ever patient. But some days the wheels come off and I run out of funny. That obscure moment when you instantly lose the ability to laugh at yourself and situations and crumble like a cracker. This happens often too. I swear when I had my Caesar the doctor removed my coping mechanism!
But like all other full time moms I wouldn't change it for the world. I am tired all the time. I haven't had a full night's sleep since 2009. I can't remember when last the king and I went on a date. My beloved pets have been downgraded to just being dogs. I tend to bark orders like a Sgt, Major and have discovered my "Mommy Voice". I am a terrible person but this is what having children does to you.
PS. I think my bum is getting bigger. As if I don't have enough to worry about.
Toodles
26 September 2011
What's for dinner?
I am a self-diagnosed OCD perfectionist. I am sure I may fall short of the actual medical requirements but if spending your life feeling like a loopy headcase is enough then I most definitely qualify.
In line with this behaviour I agonise over what's for dinner each night. True. Some friends (you know who you are) may argue that it's simply because house-wifery is dead boring and I obviously have nothing better to worry about. What with everyone else breaking their noggins over world peace and the state of the National Health System, I feel I can leave well enough alone. But alas, dinner is one of my top frets.
When I do the weekly shop I break the week down into meals and try to shop accordingly.
When I open my wee lids each morning, one of my first thoughts is "what's for dinner?". Forget the need to be thankful that another beautiful day has dawned and I am alive.
When I'm at a mates' having a cuppa I wonder what's for dinner.
When we're eating dinner, I ask his majesty what he wants for dinner tomorrow.
And if his majesty surprises us all and arrives with dinner then it really throws me off kilter. It takes me days for my mental menu to get back on track.
What's for dinner, what's for dinner, what's for dinner?!!??!?!?!??!
Tonight it was crust less tuna pie......very yummy. And tomorrow its pork steaks with roasted veg and tatters. Just in case you were wondering.
I am I the only daft fool who does this?
I gingerly add that I also worry that none of the "black" in my wardrobe matches. Life is too short some may say but unfortunately this is how I am wired.
In line with this behaviour I agonise over what's for dinner each night. True. Some friends (you know who you are) may argue that it's simply because house-wifery is dead boring and I obviously have nothing better to worry about. What with everyone else breaking their noggins over world peace and the state of the National Health System, I feel I can leave well enough alone. But alas, dinner is one of my top frets.
When I do the weekly shop I break the week down into meals and try to shop accordingly.
When I open my wee lids each morning, one of my first thoughts is "what's for dinner?". Forget the need to be thankful that another beautiful day has dawned and I am alive.
When I'm at a mates' having a cuppa I wonder what's for dinner.
When we're eating dinner, I ask his majesty what he wants for dinner tomorrow.
And if his majesty surprises us all and arrives with dinner then it really throws me off kilter. It takes me days for my mental menu to get back on track.
What's for dinner, what's for dinner, what's for dinner?!!??!?!?!??!
Tonight it was crust less tuna pie......very yummy. And tomorrow its pork steaks with roasted veg and tatters. Just in case you were wondering.
I am I the only daft fool who does this?
I gingerly add that I also worry that none of the "black" in my wardrobe matches. Life is too short some may say but unfortunately this is how I am wired.
12 August 2011
Senseless
I am now getting over what was either a millions bouts of mini-colds or one REALLY long one.
Anyhoo this one really did a number on the old bod. And quite literally rendered me senseless.
Firstly, my sinuses were so clogged and backed up that I honestly was convinced that I may never again enjoy smelling my supper. Or my really expensive Dolce & Gabanna perfume. I must say I would've been more shattered over the perfume actually.
I am also just getting over the loss of hearing. Because of the pressure in my noggin, my ears got blocked with fluid - the left one is still not playing nice yet! - and I couldn't really hear much. The hearing loss just had to coincide with Sissa's 30th birthday weekend and a mega gathering which, while charming, brought me to a social impasse. Because I was temporarily deafened I kept asking people to repeat themselves. The "pardon me?" and "excuse me's?" were beginning to wear on peoples nerves. I could tell. I also have a keen sense that my Father Darling thought I was scuppered! Looking back I think I mustv'e looked sozzled too!
This also added to strain between His Majesty and I. You see I normally maintain that he suffers from selective deafness, a terrible male disorder. But when I kept asking him to repeat himself I could tell he was loving this shoe-on-the-other-foot skit. All at my expense I add!
Another funny thing happened during all of the fluid and mucous and such-like wonderful side effects. I lost my sense of taste. This was new. It also had to happen on the day when I made a super-duper coffee mousse. The entire time I was eating it I kept repeating to myself that this must taste like chocolate surely. My tea tasted like boiled water without the trimmings! And His Majesty was pushing me to test the scientific research that suggests when you can't smell anything you can't taste it either. Well, luckily I stuck to my guns and the onions got a reprieve. But even I was tempted.......just to try!
All of this sensory deprivation also needed to take place on a day when it was so bone-achingly cold that I couldn't feel my fingers or feet. Just my luck! So bye bye touch!
It was also the week I lost my precious specs. So I was blinded, to a certain degree too.
And His Majesty being a real boy wanted to try the funky monkey with me in this state! I did a double take?!?!? Like, I can't believe you want to play the nookie card when I'm feeling like death with legs! He maintained that a good bout of exercise would exorcise the virus from my system. What is it about men who can rationalise just about ANY daft and would be catastrophic situation as a reason for horizontal experimentation. I am neither going to confirm or deny whether the act took place. We can talk about that one a whole 'nother day.
Tally - no smell, no taste, no proper vision, no hearing and practically no touch - although thank heavens that was just temporary!
I have consumed enough ginger to make Asia blush. Gone through what seems like zillions of homeopathic "pilluiles" and enough triple ply tissues to keep the Carlton/Twinsaver company in the black for a very long time.
Tick tock 'til the next infection. I am trying to be a good girl and eat my vegetables but some days the wheels come off and I know I am going to get sick anyway!
I am much better now. I am doing research on music therapy. I have found that a mix of Alice In Chains and the Muse seemed to make me feel a whole load better. Now I just need to compile a hit list for tummy bugs and I'm set.
Anyhoo this one really did a number on the old bod. And quite literally rendered me senseless.
Firstly, my sinuses were so clogged and backed up that I honestly was convinced that I may never again enjoy smelling my supper. Or my really expensive Dolce & Gabanna perfume. I must say I would've been more shattered over the perfume actually.
I am also just getting over the loss of hearing. Because of the pressure in my noggin, my ears got blocked with fluid - the left one is still not playing nice yet! - and I couldn't really hear much. The hearing loss just had to coincide with Sissa's 30th birthday weekend and a mega gathering which, while charming, brought me to a social impasse. Because I was temporarily deafened I kept asking people to repeat themselves. The "pardon me?" and "excuse me's?" were beginning to wear on peoples nerves. I could tell. I also have a keen sense that my Father Darling thought I was scuppered! Looking back I think I mustv'e looked sozzled too!
This also added to strain between His Majesty and I. You see I normally maintain that he suffers from selective deafness, a terrible male disorder. But when I kept asking him to repeat himself I could tell he was loving this shoe-on-the-other-foot skit. All at my expense I add!
Another funny thing happened during all of the fluid and mucous and such-like wonderful side effects. I lost my sense of taste. This was new. It also had to happen on the day when I made a super-duper coffee mousse. The entire time I was eating it I kept repeating to myself that this must taste like chocolate surely. My tea tasted like boiled water without the trimmings! And His Majesty was pushing me to test the scientific research that suggests when you can't smell anything you can't taste it either. Well, luckily I stuck to my guns and the onions got a reprieve. But even I was tempted.......just to try!
All of this sensory deprivation also needed to take place on a day when it was so bone-achingly cold that I couldn't feel my fingers or feet. Just my luck! So bye bye touch!
It was also the week I lost my precious specs. So I was blinded, to a certain degree too.
And His Majesty being a real boy wanted to try the funky monkey with me in this state! I did a double take?!?!? Like, I can't believe you want to play the nookie card when I'm feeling like death with legs! He maintained that a good bout of exercise would exorcise the virus from my system. What is it about men who can rationalise just about ANY daft and would be catastrophic situation as a reason for horizontal experimentation. I am neither going to confirm or deny whether the act took place. We can talk about that one a whole 'nother day.
Tally - no smell, no taste, no proper vision, no hearing and practically no touch - although thank heavens that was just temporary!
I have consumed enough ginger to make Asia blush. Gone through what seems like zillions of homeopathic "pilluiles" and enough triple ply tissues to keep the Carlton/Twinsaver company in the black for a very long time.
Tick tock 'til the next infection. I am trying to be a good girl and eat my vegetables but some days the wheels come off and I know I am going to get sick anyway!
I am much better now. I am doing research on music therapy. I have found that a mix of Alice In Chains and the Muse seemed to make me feel a whole load better. Now I just need to compile a hit list for tummy bugs and I'm set.
11 August 2011
Struggles
Dear Fans and followers
Sorry about the long leave. Between losing the goggles and family visits I simply havent had the time.
I am working on my next piece as we speak!
Sorry about the long leave. Between losing the goggles and family visits I simply havent had the time.
I am working on my next piece as we speak!
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