This week has been eventful. It started off with a panic call to a bed shop and ended up with a very bizarre conversation with my colleagues of a fecal nature. Thrown into the mix was an extreme wine Tuesday followed by a rather hungover Wednesday…. Plans were made for valentines and I now have the mountainous task of making room for a double bed in daughter no 2’s shit hole room… If I don’t make it out alive please know that I love you all…
After a few weeks of listening to Mister Carr complain about how much his neck is hurting when he sleeps at home. Nothing to do with the 6/7 hours snooker he plays every Saturday btw. I decided that we needed a new bed. If I’m honest we’ve never in our 21 years together purchased a bed from an actual shop. Mostly we’ve had hand me downs, new mattresses and once there may have been one that arrived in the dead of night. Don’t judge. I wasn’t asking any questions. We were poor! What a ‘fun’ experience bed shopping was. I hate spending money and shopping at the best of times. It makes me sweat and I get irritable. Shopping for a bed was rubbish as apparently you have to cater for the other person sleeping in said bed and apparently he likes a no2 (very squishy) and I’m a no nonsense firm no4 kinda girl.
Those who have been to our house will know it’s not the biggest and my bedroom is most certainly not the fanciest. In our 17 years here it’s the only room that we have never really ‘done’. This WILL be rectified once we have had our holiday! In the meantime we are going to squeeze a super king bed in our little room. We can’t wait to take it all apart to move it in 6 months so we can plaster and carpet. Talking about the super king bed., things escalated rather quickly in the shop. In between me kicking off at daughter no2 for literally taking her shoes off and bouncing on every bed and Mister Carr trying to find the cheapest bed as following our first visit to the store he’s had a think and it’s only a bed. Daughter no 2 kept interrupting our heated discussion to ask for a new bed, new pillow, new mattress, new anything. We somehow agreed on a bed. After a not subtle at all whispered conversation which ended with me sulking and Mister Carr telling me to just get a bed, whatever bed. (we’ve all been there). Since Asda were calling as apparently they were sat outside our house with my food delivery, Mister Carr had to rush home and whilst there ‘Measured’ up for the new bed. All ok he says as we quickly sign the paperwork on the cheaper option bed whilst rushing back to the car as Liverpool are about to kick off. Once home, I being the annoying knob that I am double checked Mister Carr’s measurements and ahem, our bed may fit width ways. I mean you you could get in it the room. However if you need to , say walk around the bed you may have a little problem. It does not fit length ways and I happen to like opening my wardrobes. So Monday arrives and after a very sleepless night because I was worrying about the stupid bed I found myself explaining to our bemused assistant whose over the moon because I now have to and fork out another £150 to change the bed to the one I wanted in the first place. Arghhh!
This now brings me nicely on to my task for today. I’ve called in the troops to help me with this. I’m not going down alone! I have to clear daughter no2’s room out. This is whilst she’s in the house. I need to fit a double bed in her room as since she didn’t get anything new she wants our old double bed. Oh dear god! I don’t know what I’m going to find. She spent last night ‘cleaning’. If you have or have ever had an 11 year old you will know this just means hiding shit. There are going to be tears and tantrums today. That will just be from me!
My single friend came for a visit. It started with good intentions I cooked sea bass, sweet potato’s and veg. It ended with me sluring in to a gin having drunk my body weight in wine whilst eating dried up sea bass and a bag of sour cream pretzels. My sides ached from laughing and we had a fantastic time! Her stories are wild, often shocking and I love them. In her drunken state and in between us playing with the snap chat filters she agreed to clean my bathroom and be my moral support today in no2’s bedroom. She’ll supply more medicinal wine if it all gets too much and hold my hand when it seems like I can’t go on and most importantly referee when the child won’t throw out a 6 year old scrap of paper…..
Going back to cleaning my bathroom. Following a fb post I recently saw from a friend whose had difficulty’s with a cleaner it has been brought to my attention that the majority of my friends have cleaners.. wtf? When did this happen and why did no one tell me!!! I fucking hate cleaning with a passion! I always thought that paying someone to do it would make me look a bit lazy and that it was for rich people. Why did no one tell me I could do this and it’s affordable, acceptable and actually the ‘norm’? Even a cleaners half arsed job would be better than my non existent one. I mean I have no time in my life for cleaning skirting boards or behind shit, in shit, round shit oh and windows. All this time you had cleaners and I’ve just been hiding shit to make my house look acceptable! I’m so happy right now!
Work, Hungover, sausage butty, home, takeaway…. Bed. (I’m too old for this shit).
Work, yoga (it hurt), home back on track with salmon and sweet potato.
Work. Pie Friday whoop, pork pie for breakfast! Standard day until….
1. I considered doing the colour run and Halloween dash for Manorlands our local Sue Ryder hospice. I don’t run. I may still be drunk from Tuesday.
2, I was alerted to some very strange and just plain weird happenings at work. So apparently someone is peeing in the sanitary bins in my work. You think that’s bad wait till you hear what’s happening on another floor. It has been noted that fecal matter has been put/placed in other sanitary bins. I’ll just let that sink in… What the hell! We discussed (at length) amongst ourselves how this may occur. Could it be an accident? Has a female become confused at the choice of receptacles in the ladies cubical and somehow mistaken the sanitary bin for a toilet? Alternatively are they shitting in their hand and popping it in. Worse still did they block the toilet with a poo so huge they had to fish it out and hide the evidence. I was for once lost for words. I know right! We have been asked to keep an eye out for anything suspicious. I don’t know what that is but I will be sure to do my best. I never imagined that at 41 I would be asked not to shit in a bin. Hahahaha!
Right Saturday is here. My treat for getting through today’s ‘roomgate’ will be drinks and food with my lovelies at home!!!
Let’s do this! There is alcohol at the end of the tunnel!