I’ve followed up my beer buzz with a cup of tea…not rock of all ages material, and it’s made me feel bloated, alone and ugly, as it’s Friday night and here I am sucking beers and then falling at the last hurdle and succumbing to tea. The shame of being 37 and nine tenths!!!
It’s been a long week, for no other reason than it just HAS, and it’s rained every day. Work continues to be awful, with no respite from the abuse, hatred and general rudeness that is the Irish population when dealing with their bank. Ah, we truly are scumbags, raised in the back of toilets, judging by some of the language and colourful death threats I receive on an hourly basis.
I’ve moved seats and am currently surrounded by a group of girls, which horrified me initially, but seems to actually have turned out okay. The girl beside me has a make up bag the size of my actual handbag, despite being at least 18 years younger than me, thin and not requiring much maintenance, but there you go. Bear in mind my handbag needs to accommodate my book (hardback), my giant purse, umbrella, hat, various notes that I write to myself, my pens, phone, keys, sunglasses and my net for catching potential husbandvictims, so you can imagine it’s size. So that should convince you that there is a SERIOUS AMOUNT of making up going on. However, myself and the Glamorous One seem to have forged something of a friendship, based on our love of food and our raging hormones. I may have secret crushes every five seconds but I don’t wander around the staff canteen trying to take sneaky photos of unsuspecting males, like my friend there, or walk around a nightclub in a circle trying to catch someones eye. FOR AN ENTIRE NIGHT. Good tips for me though, should I find my eye wandering over lunch or ever end up in a nightclub again.
The girl behind me is actually worse, and even has a creepy ”I’m coming for you, boy” look, which makes me squeal like a girl every time I catch her doing it. It involves a trout pout, one eye closing and one opening, and a vigorous nodding of the head, to ensure the victim knows she’s a-coming, and she’s ready. She is also obsessed with my ex-team leader’s arse, which she insists is like ”two eggs in a hanky” despite my protestations that it is flat, and ugly, and he is a pigperson anyway so he cannot be fancied.
Aside from this it has been an uneventful week, broken up only by Ireland being hammered in the European football matches, a fabulous evening eating Babybro’s stew with little Niece N and Sisinlaw, and the departure of Scarydancer and Lilsister from the apartment as they mind Scarydancer’s parent’s tiny dog whilst they have their jollidays. This has meant many beers for me, with my music playing while I dance about and try not to fall over every time I try to lift Scarydancer’s new weights. Sigh. My flabby arms beg me to reconvene, and soon.
Freddie Mercury sings to me in the background, and advises me to be free with my tango, and on that note, I will drain my cup, tidy up and hit my lonely bed for what I hope will be a deep, beer induced sleep.