How Low Can You Go…..


For two things you must forgive me today. The first is that this is the second blog post in 24 hours, so there is clearly some form of crisis going on. The second is the word in the above picture, the reason for which will become clear later in this monologue.

Today has revealed that new lows can still be found, even at my great age. The first clue that this was going to be THAT sort of day came when the Man-Hog bounced jauntily out of the bathroom in his natural state (and what a state) and flung himself bodily across my supine body still lying in bed. This was no fit of unbridled passion, dear friends. No – this was the Man-Hog demonstrating that romance, passion, love or whatever that funny bubbly feeling in your chest actually is has finally, and forever, left the building. His words, uttered in a fairly sexy (for him) rasp, were: “Hun, can you look at the spot on my bum? Does it have an ingrown hair in it?” Of all the things a man could say to a woman after spending the night together (albeit the billionth one), this was not what anybody wanted to hear. He somehow couldn’t understand my sudden leap from the bed squealing, running at impressive speed for one so recently horizontal and subsequently slamming the bathroom door. He is blaming it on my hormones. Aaagggh!

Having hidden the tweezers lest he be tempted to ask me to prod, I ventured sulkily downstairs in my PJs five minutes later to be greeted by the Mini-Pig boy: “Mum, I can’t find my PE kit.” I sighed heavily and trudged into the laundry room to search for the offending items. The girl-child wandered into the kitchen meantime in search of school tights without gaping holes in them (there are none) and for whatever her reasons, uttered a sentence I only half-heard from the depths of the ironing pile but which contained the word “mucus”.  Mini-Pig boy – clearly more delicate in disposition than the rest of us – immediately gagged, retched and regurgitated his recently devoured Coco Pops. Still, another heavy sigh wrenched its way out of my chest, the place where the Love Bubble used to be, as I trudged back to the laundry again to fetch the mop. Clearly this is not a word to be used in his earshot within an hour of any mealtime. Forewarned now.

Keep in mind, people, this is all before 8.30.

Man-Hog despatched to visit sister to bore her with botty-spot issues, vomiting Mini-Pigs thrown onto school coach, I was finally able to get dressed and go off to work. The train journey managed to soothe my frazzled nerve endings and, never one to be down for long, hope rose within me again. It was not to be. Halfway across the one-way street housing my office building, a black cab driver flew around the corner at break-neck speed straight towards me. With an adrenaline-fuelled Kanga skip I managed to make the kerb by the skin of my teeth. Bad enough, you would think, until Taxi Neanderthal then screeched to a halt, reversed backwards like he was going for the drifting World Record, and proceeded to berate me for not looking where I was going. I pointed out that I had been halfway across a one-way street – there had been only one way to look before crossing and he had probably been in the next town at that point, the speed he’d been going. This was clearly not the right thing to say. He let fly a volley of words I haven’t heard since Bristol Rovers versus Crystal Palace away back in 1980-something (although I can clearly remember chanting Charlie Nicklas is a Horse’s Arse! I was young, what can I say.) I kept calm and merely directed Caveman-For-Hire to his copy of the Highway Code. To his credit, he was rendered speechless. He then waved a dramatic fist at me  and zoomed off in a flurry of London dust and old fag ends. Miserable old git.

All in all, it’s been a poor start to the day. Boss is at a funeral (bound to come back grumpy), been promised something from a jar for tea (oh joy) and the office is out of biscuits (for the love of God, why?). There’s a great line from the 1993 Mrs Doubtfire film that sums all this up. Robin Williams says: “Did you ever wish you could sometimes freeze frame a moment in your day, look at it and say “this is not my life“?” Well, that’s me. Thinking seriously of going back to bed. Call me when the love is back in the room.

Quote reproduced from http://IMDB.com

Picture credit: http://icouldcrybutidonthavetime.wordpress.com

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About pigletinapoke

I am a forty-something married mum of two, working in London and commuting a crazy amount of hours so I can enjoy living at the coast at weekends! I'm into netball, jointly coaching and running a successful ladies club. I also sail whenever I get the chance and took part in the Trans-Atlantic leg of the Clipper Round The World yacht race in 2009. I like movies, particularly stuff by Nancy Meyers in whose set designs I want to spend my life. I devour novels, biographies and anything to do with self-improvement. I like to drive fast and live slightly dangerously, attempting to experience everything and everywhere before my time is up. That's me in a nutshell - I hope you enjoy my blog. If you would like to use any of my articles or the pics, I would appreciate very much if you could ask me first. Never known to refuse to date. Thanks!

Posted on December 7, 2011, in Family Life and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 8 Comments.

  1. I think it’s one of those days. Having similar here x

  2. Poor you – it is no fun is it? And I just noticed a typo in the blog post which has gone out to everyone who reads it. “Sums” not “Somes” – der! Corrected it here, but too late for the readers. Great! Can’t even rant correctly 😦

  3. just found your mucus rant thanks to a tweet from a friend – the look at my bum part is funny, as long as it is happening to you, when it happened to me 3 days ago it didn’t seem so funny. As a mother, i ask you, is there something different that you teach boys and not girls because it seems like they get a whole different set of rules to live by a- your body is wonderful,flaunt it, the whole world should be given the privelige of seeing it. b – you are always right, just yell louder and burp your opinion and everyone will be amazed at your intellect. c- you are more important than anyone else on the planet, of course you don’t need to clean up, pick up or sort out your own mess, some lowly female will be along shortly to do it for you. Why do people continue teaching males these things i’m confused!

    • Well, if I’m completely honest, both me and my husband were spoilt children. Our mothers thought the sun shone out of our nether regions. I, in turn, pamper the Mini-Pig, not because he’s a boy but because he’s cute and he’s my last. I think it gets balanced out by me hopefully being a fairly capable, confident(ish) woman role model. Who knows? We’ll only know when his future partner turns round and thanks me for bringing up such a thoughtful boy – OR – blames me for the state of their relationship!

  4. but what about pig-girl? Do you encourage her to take off her kit at the drop of a hat? Is she convinced that she is the most intelligent specimen on the planet? I’m interested in the nature vs nurture case here – are boys treated different to girls so that we get these dreadful “check- my- butt- for- pimples- would- you- darl” moments?

  5. Poor you hope things get better soon xx

  6. You are not alone out there…..

    Found you on the Mummy’s little monkey blog hop!
    Family stories, past & present at http://saveeverystep.wordpress.com

  7. What a day! Hope it’s looking up now.

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