It’s Wednesday, I am bored. This is not a word I use often. The kids are both out, again. I am beginning to wonder why I am having all this time off in the holidays now.
It is a nice day and so there are probably loads of thing I could be doing. The sodding garden for one. I keep meaning to sort the shed out too. My upstairs needs a bloody good hoover. The airing cupboard needs re-organising. I have some things I want to sell on ebay. My fridge is long overdue a bit of Dettol and well, the list goes on.
However, here I am sitting with my third coffee of the morning blogging. I do not like housework. It is a running joke in my family that I do not clean. I do not iron either, something that totally amazes most people. I make myself sound very lazy, perhaps I am when it comes to chores. They are a chore, the clue is in the title.
I always want to be doing something more exciting than housework, doesn’t everyone?
I am also still finding J more than a little distracting. This really can not go on!
Yesterday he was telling me how he wants to lean me over his desk and take me from behind. The fact that he even has a desk is very amusing. I can just about fit a sofa, a TV and a coffee table in to my lounge and the lounge is my downstairs pretty much, apart from the kitchen.
Visions of a big old Victorian desk, complete with antique green leather inserts, springs in to my mind… and a lot more besides. I am in trouble here. It is all very fun and flirty by text but face to face it is a different matter. I know I will not be as confident as I pretend to be while I am texting. I am after all very comfortable at a keyboard. When I can say what I like and pretend that I am someone else.
The trouble with trouble is… It is bloody fun. There is no doubt about that.
We have a date tonight and he has suggested we ‘shoot some pool’ after some dinner. I wonder why? He seems to very much like the idea of me stretched over tables/desks, well anything really.
How sexy this will be in reality is anyones guess. I am only 5 ft tall, elegance doesn’t come naturally to me. I need heels to make me look like an adult and a plunge bra, otherwise I would be mistaken for a boy. I kid you not, this has happened before.
I have a very straight figure. It is almost shapeless. I am not concerned by this and I do not have body dysmorphia or any other issues with it. I am 45 now, my issues are slowly disappearing. I care less now about how I am perceived by others. In fact I can’t wait to be 90 and be able to just stick my middle finger up at absolutely anything that displeases me.
I obviously like to look good and I am not saying that I don’t make an effort with what I have got. Of course I do.
So, we are going for pizza and then to play some pool. It is all very ‘low brow’ this date. We were even considering going to the nearest town and looking for a proper pub with a dingy back room and pool table but he isn’t quite ready for that yet.
He is though, I have since found out, a bit of a biker. So he might not be as polished as I first thought. This also means he must have leathers so dingy back rooms might not be a problem after all, well until he speaks at least.
So our next date will be in the very public and very neon bowling alley. I will be wearing heels, high ones. The furthest I go in flats is the village post office and that is only because the floor in there is very wonky.
I expect everyone else will be dressed very casually as it is the bowling alley. This is a bit of a worry. I do not even own a pair of trainers or anything of similar nature. I just don’t wear them. Elsie has about 50 pairs. I could borrow a pair of hers as we are the same size, which is handy sometimes but I don’t want to. I will not feel sexy in trainers and the likelihood is that I won’t be able to see over the pool table either, never mind put a ball in a pocket.
I am competitive by nature. I used to be extremely so, but have calmed down a bit, or I think I have. We will see later?
When Elsie was in the netball team she banned me from attending the matches. I was a serial sideline shouter. I can’t help it. I want them to win. It’s all very good saying that it’s the taking part that counts and to a certain extent this could be true but sports are competitive. They always have been and always should be. There is nothing wrong with healthy competition and a want to do well or to win.
She however, used to hate me shouting from the sidelines and so I either had to go and be quiet or not go at all. I went and tried to be quiet.. ish.
Oooh… my parcel of 7 pairs of jeans has just arrived.
Jeans are so hard to buy. I have been looking for some new ones for ages. I have bought several pairs recently all of which have been returned, so in an effort to find at least one pair in one hit, I have ordered 7 pairs to try on. Then I will return the other 6 pairs. Well this is the plan.
As previously stated I have a flat arse and not much of a waist, in the way that it is not cinched, it is only a couple of inches smaller than my hips so jeans do not always fit me well. I have two pairs currently and they took me forever to find. They are also very tired.
I really do hope I only like one pair as this little lot has cost £327!! I did not realise Levis were so freaking expensive. Hopefully they will be terrible and the cheap ones will fit lovely for a change.
I cannot afford to keep them all! I see more trouble on the horizon.
Right I need to get off this machine and do something before I completely lose the whole day. See you after the date…