Recently, I was out on an adult-only evening which involved completing a meal in its entirety, whilst simultaneously engaging in civilised conversation, when my very adult friend asked if I would like to join her new book club. A book club? [I scoffed]. Now there’s a laugh. Isn’t that where grown-ups meet on a regular basis to unlock the hidden depths and common threads running through mutually selected texts, whilst nibbling on fancy flavoured nuts and tippling on tiny tots of sherry? My very adult friend took a sip of her robust-looking red, whilst I choked on my neon-looking pop and declined her invitation promptly. Captain Underpants and the Attack of the Talking Toilets would be lost on her club.
There’s something about heels that makes a woman feel good. Whether or not we look good is an entirely different matter. However, the fact remains that tall heels, kitten heels, stiletto heels, cone heels, spool heels, chunky heels – whatever your preference, heels make us feel sh*t hot. For there’s something about slipping into a pair of heels that instantly transforms a woman. From skivvy to sexy, elephant to elegant, mum to MILF. No matter who she becomes, the woman in heels has elevated herself to a whole new level. And she means business. Continue reading “Hot Heels”
Have you gone a-mothering today? Chances are you haven’t. And never will. Unless of course, you are a Catholic or Protestant Christian, who has returned to the church in which you were baptised, for a commemorative Laetare Sunday service? Or perhaps you are a domestic servant who has been granted a whole day off to visit church with your mother and other family members? Now that’s more like it. Well, the domestic servant bit. Continue reading “Smothering Mumday”
Last week someone, who shall remain anonymous, came to me with a problem. It was quite out of character. And it was quite out of the blue. A shocking self-discovery that took myself and this someone, who shall remain anonymous, rather by surprise.
As problems go, it wasn’t catastrophic. There was no narcotic addiction, there was no other man, there were no gambling debts. Thank Goodness, there was no terminal illness, no manic depression, no mid-life crisis. In fact, this particular problem was less a problem and more a stark observation. And as with a common cold or a niggling cough, the problem was actually uncomplicated. Easily self-remedied, given half the chance. But by its very simplistic nature, it was all the more startling. Continue reading “Tickle Me Quick”
When it comes to going on holiday, it’s somewhat of a prerequisite to actually like the people you are going with. After all, indulging in a Sex on The Beach with someone you like has to be preferable to sharing a Screaming Orgasm with someone you can’t bear the sight of, right? And so, it was a bloody good job that this year, once again, we were jollying with tried and tested holiday pals. Three years on the trot and any shred of shame had been annihilated, bulging bikini diets abolished and pre-holiday spray tans abandoned. This time round, we were holidaying together as old-timers, besties, bosoms. I say “we”. What I actually mean is “I”. For this year, controversially, I left my Other Half behind. And not simply because I don’t like him.
But just quite how controversial this move was, I hadn’t anticipated. Tongues wagged, heads turned. It was clear there were two schools of thought unfolding on the state of this marriage: Either he’s left her (in a hurricane of hormones, “with child” and two tear-away toddlers) or she’s left him (amid a mid-life crisis, with a 4o-something year old receding hair-line and his very own burgeoning belly – can you blame her?) Either way, with newly-acquired, expectant single-mum status, I was going to enjoy milking this little baby. Continue reading “Trouble in Paradise”
So here we are again. The central heating is on, the woolly cardigans are out and X-Factor has started. The summer we’d all been waiting for is done. Done and dusted. Caught on camera before being swept away as abruptly as a tidal wave, leaving us with nothing but sepia-tinged memories to cling onto. Sombreros are gathering dust on the tops of cupboards and the rose-tinted spectacles that last week hugged us tightly, are now long-lost amigos, forgotten amongst cluttered drawers full of everything and nothing. Needless to say, my vitamin-D enriched skin is now peeling into snowflakes of white and my sun-kissed legs won’t get to see the light of day for another year.
I had procrastinated long enough. Summer, winter. Ready, not ready. It didn’t matter. There was never going to be a good time. Hickory dickory dock. The tick tock of the clock was beginning to rattle my cage. I had avoided the issue long enough. Now there were only 39 days until B day and the number 3 was on my mind. But what could be so fearsome as to warrant the complex web of excuses [forward-slash, “delay tactics”], that I’d spun myself? I’d been there and done it all before, so what was the big drama? Well, apparently everyone else around me had also been there and done it all before me. And as if that wasn’t enough, even my own social media sites were on board, prodding me with unnervingly omniscient pop-ups peddling subliminal messages, such as: “Start potty training for the most stubborn child in 3 days flat”.
There was nothing subliminal about that. Continue reading “Knicker-Bocker Glory”
Since becoming an FTM, I figured that it was about time I stepped up to the plate and become an FTW at the same time. Yes, that’s right. A full-time-mum and a full-time-wife. A mean feat after nearly eight years handcuffed together in sworn allegiance. But with two for the price of one, my other-half was going to be overjoyed. So how could I deprive him any longer? Continue reading “The Full-time Wife”
It’s been a while. Have you missed me? On second thoughts, don’t answer that. For since we last met, I’ve become increasingly accustomed to using the F word. Whereas it’s not a word I would use frivolously, I’ve grown to feel rather comfortable with the way it just rolls of the tongue in an incredibly gratifying way. And loaded with an emotion and an enormous strength that no other word can afford, the F word knows how to satisfy me in a way that nothing else can. Not even you, who knows me so well. Or so you think.
For whilst you were gone, something happened to me. Something that took me fully by surprise. And despite only being teased by the transience of the moment, this particular moment was undeniably momentous. Not to mention memorable. So memorable in fact, that this singular moment can be pinpointed to a sleeping policeman on a bridge crossing over a motorway at ten-to-nine on a dreary morning in December. For it was whilst flying over this bump, amid the grinding groans of over-worked windscreen wipers, the monotonous moans of sluggish school-kids in the back and the distant drones of the tedious traffic crawling beneath me, that I discovered it. A fleeting feeling that catapulted me momentarily to a most coveted space somewhere beyond infinity, to the very top of the world. A soothing sensation that sent ripples of serene totality and blissful wholeness throughout my body. An epiphanic state of self-completion that incredibly I wasn’t aware I’d been lacking all these years. What became of me in that instant was an unforeseen but unequivocal sense of Fulfilment. The F word: fully-fledged, flawless and finger-lickin’ly good. Fulfilment: pure and simple, yet achieved almost by accident. What a coup! Continue reading “The F Word”
Sequel to “Trust me, I’m your Instinct” & “362 Day Resolve”
It wasn’t difficult to win me over. In fact, it was only a matter of time before I’d submit. Yet again. Not content with my lot. A sucker for some sensation. Maybe it was the risky scent of danger that lingered after last time, or the addictive taste of adrenaline that laced my lips and played temptress with my mind. Or perhaps it was the garrulous grumblings of a gut, whose deeply instinctive groans and aches had simply got the better of me again. Either way, Mills and Boon eat your hearts out, my appetite was wet. There was only one thing on my mind. And just when you thought you knew me so well, I’d ditched the status quo and was making headline news again. Well, about as headline as any Facebook status goes. Continue reading “Knowing is Believing”