40 articles Articles posted in Humour

Turns Out, It’s Pathological…

I’m having a weird experience.

This weekend, I’ve worked my arse off and got every room in the house clean and tidy. We’ve had a massive sort out and got rid of all of the clothes and shoes that we don’t want anymore, sorted out Sausage’s burgeoning mound of toys, sorted out Husbands office which was in danger of attracting hobos with the amount of cardboard boxes that were piled up in there. Hell, Husband even cleaned the oven! What I’m saying is, that as I sit here there’s one final load of washing going round in the machine and then THAT’S IT. There’s no more housework to do today.

And do you know what? I don’t like it.

I’m ever so good at ignoring housework, like “Oh, yeah, I know there’s mould on the bathroom tiles, but I just need to watch this episode of Desperate Housewives…” but now there’s nothing to do and I can just legitimately sit and watch TV or read my Kindle, I feel like I can’t concentrate. Like, it’s not worth doing if I’m not using it as an avoidance of something.

So, you see, I think I have some sort of mental illness. Any ideas what it might be? All I know is, I’m scouting the house for chores, and on account of the fact that this is me we’re talking about, I know there’s definitely something amiss!

The Best Thing To Ever Happen in Waitrose.

I don’t know about you, but I have a very set idea of the four types of people who shop in Waitrose:

1. Old people. Old, grumpy, usually snobby people who tend to be myopic enough to accidentally (on purpose) try to run you over in their Rovers.

2. Married couples in their late thirties through to late middle age who are probably quite affluent and tend to buy things like expensive wine, bags of salad and expensive pate.

3. Women in their early thirties who have married rich men, who are dolled-up to the nines to do their weekly shop and usually have a couple of kids in tow, who are without exception, really badly behaved.

4. ‘Normal’ people like us, probably not rich enough to do a weeks shop in there and tend to walk around looking slightly bewildered about why their beans cost twice as much in here as they do in Tesco.

Unfortunately, Waitrose is our closest supermarket and when we’re between big shops, we have to go there to stock up on bits, but the other day I had such an awesome moment in there.

I was in the washing aisle and was perusing the washing up liquids. Some of the Waitrose own brand ones have very exotic sounding scents and I said to Husband “Oh these sound nice…then again, I don’t know why I allow myself to get drawn into these, I only end up going right back to Fairy”.

At this moment, a very well dressed man in a baker-boy hat and expensive looking jeans sidled up to us and said “You know, I’m rather partial to a fairy myself” only to smirk and glide away with his trolley!

Such a minute thing, but’s it’s tickled me ever since, every time I think about it. I won’t go too deep into the whole thing, but more than anything I was absolutely made up that in a world, nay, a shop of extreme prejudice, someone can be that secure in himself to just make a joke with a random stranger. That’s the kind of world I want to live in.

Five Easy Steps to Brighten Up Your Kitchen

Anyone who has lived in rented accommodation knows that the flats and houses tend to be magnolia palaces, painted in the most drab and inoffensive shades of ‘BLAH’ and you’re often under other contraints, such as a contract that states you can’t paint the walls or put nails in the walls to hang pictures.

Although my kitchen is the one room in the house with a modicum of colour on the walls (a nice shade of urine yellow…), Sausage’s latest passion has really helped to brighten the place up, so without further ado, I give you ‘Five Easy Steps to Brighten Up Your Kitchen’:

1. Copulate.

2. Get pregnant.

3. Give birth.

4. Wait around three and a half years for your child to grow up and develop an interest in painting.

5. Stick said paintings liberally around your magnolia palace.

A VOILA!

[slideshow]

Just in case you’re curious, the octopus in the drawing is called Shirley! 

5 Things I’ve Learned Since Becoming an Adult.

There are certain facts that you just don’t know until you reach adulthood/move out of your parents house/have kids. I was pretty much wrapped in cotton wool until I was 21 (that’s not a complaint Mum, just an observation) and these facts just did not enter my consciousness until I made the decision to propel myself into the big wide world.

Just in case anyone is reading this who is new to the ‘grown-up’ thing, or just wants to brush up on some harsh realities, here are five of the most important things I’ve learned.

1. Any rubbish bags you buy with the words ‘large’ or ‘heavy duty’ printed on them will inevitably actually be the same size as a leprechaun’s scrotum and in fact have the same strength qualities of wet rice paper. I thought this was confined to the ones I bought from the Pound shop or the ever so slightly cheaper 99p shop, but it happens everywhere.

2. Some men seem to think that MILFs (if you don’t know; look it up but keep your Google Safe Search on!) are this exotic breed of experienced older women, and while I won’t debate that many women regain their pre-baby body, the vast majority end up with nipples that point towards the floor, a stomach like a road map and either a whacking great scar across their pubic line or a chuff like a Wizard’s sleeve from squeezing human beings out. Then there’s the sick in the hair, sleep deprivation and cracked nipples (or so I’m told). Sorry lads, that’s just the cold, hard truth.

The Fantasy
The Reality

3. It doesn’t matter if you’re a brilliant cook who can make things from scratch. You may be the master of the meringue, the queen of the macaroon, your talents know no bounds. But I guarantee the first time you boil an egg for yourself, you’ll have to look up on Google how to do it and I bet, even then, it won’t come out perfect. The best advice I can give you? Buy one of these:

The Tefal Toast n Egg. Genius.

4. People will ALWAYS surprise you. Unless you’ve spent every waking moment of your life with someone, there will always be information about a person which will knock your socks off. The other day, my boss was telling us a story about how, a couple of years ago, she and a female friend booked a cheap package deal to a Greek island that turned out to be horrible due to a rotten hotel and largely rubbish beaches. One day, they stumbled upon a nudist beach which was the nicest sun spot on the island and spent the next ten days returning to play beach tennis, stark-bollock naked, with a group of young ladies. Just so you know, my boss is 67 and an accountant.

(I won’t be illustrating this point with a picture, as above. I wouldn’t want to scar you for life)

5. If you’re the type to have kids, you’ll no doubt have a set of ideals that you’ll formulate once expecting, or maybe even before. Once your little bundle of joy is born, largely, these ideas will be torn up and thrown out of the window. I’ve lost count of the amount of parents-to-be who insist they’re anti-dummy, anti-bottle, anti-TV, anti-everything-that’s-not-organic, Gina Ford worshippers who, within weeks of bringing the baby home have given up on their hard-and-fast rules and are helicoptering their arses off with a dummy in one hand, a bottle in the other and a Baby Einsteins DVD on repeat for 8 hours a day. Don’t beat yourself up. It’s called COPING.

So, there are my pearls of wisdom for a Sunday morning. They may not be profound, but they may save you a lot of time and effort and what could be better than that? YOU’RE WELCOME.

Sausage-ism of the Day

Me: “If you had a little brother, what would you like him to be called?”

Sausage: “Errrm, cheese scone.

Me: “Okaaay…What about a little sister?”

Sausage: “Pontypandy….or xylophone”

My Daughter, the surrealist!

Sausage-ism of the Day.

“Mummy, I think I love you. I think I’ll keep you. I definitely won’t throw you in the bin”

Er, thanks…I think?!

The Best Card Ever…

Husband and Sausage love to draw together and I’m often presented with a card that she’s commissioned her Daddy to draw for me. I just got handed one and I think it’s my favourite yet:

Good to know, right? Just to add to the overall effect and presumably just in case I didn’t know what a stinky bum was, here’s the inside:

I wonder if Hallmark are looking for any new designs? ‘Cause this one is genius!

Naked.

When Husband and I first got married, he didn’t like to wear his wedding ring. It wasn’t anything nefarious, he just wasn’t comfortable wearing jewellery, and naturally I kicked up a fuss about it at every possible opportunity. So much so that he went out and had a ‘J’ tattooed on his ring finger, just to show that while he didn’t like to wear a ring, he was 100% committed and taken. He shouldn’t have needed to do this, but I’m an insecure maniac, so I’m grateful that he did. As it turns out he started wearing his ring anyway, some time around Sausage being born I think, so he has both a permanent and a removable reminder of me, 24/7!

Because of my underactive thyroid, despite the fact that I’m medicated, my hands and feet still swell up so I don’t know if my rings are going to even fit me from one day to the next. I’ve lost count of the times that I’ve gone to sleep with my ring on and woken up with swollen hands and a purple ring finger, only to have to rush to the bathroom and the liquid soap dispenser to try to get my mini-tourniquet off. As a result, I tend to be not wearing my ring more often than I am, and around the house it’s not so bad but when I go out, I feel naked without it. I’m rather slapdash with where I leave it too, it can be found anywhere from the serving hatch (yes, we have a serving hatch…) to the bookshelf, to Husbands desk, to the bathroom shelf, to the floor next to my bed.

Only, that’s the problem. It can’t be found at all anymore. I have lost my wedding ring.

I lost it a couple of months ago and have been frantically searching for it ever since. I even put off telling Husband that I couldn’t find it, in the hope that I’d find it before I had to confess. I was almost hoping that he was doing one of those mean, but ultimately well-meaning, pranks that people on American sit-coms do, where he walks into a room, finds my ring on the floor, picks it up, pulls a few over-the-top facial expressions to camera, and then hides it and revels in my agony at trying to secretly find it. But no, Husband is not that mean and my ring is definitely lost.

Aside from the fact that I’m abso-fucking-lutely gutted at having lost my ring, it’s compounded by the fact that it made it all the way to the bloody Maldives and back, unscathed, but I can’t keep an eye on in it in a small bungalow in the South East of Essex. Then, there’s the judgement. I must add, this is absolutely just an imaginary perceived judgement that I project onto others, but in my head, when I’m walking along with Sausage, EVERY SINGLE PERSON we walk past checks my ring finger and does an audible ‘TUT’ when they see that it’s naked. Especially when I go to Waitrose. You know what a lot of Waitrose shoppers are like. Older, conservative, JUDGEMENTAL. (Obviously not all Waitrose shoppers are like this, I shop in there occasionally and I’m a young, liberal, seemingly unmarried mother…). I feel like I want to walk around with a sign around my neck which says ‘I AM married, you know’. In fact, if I ever find myself conversing with a stranger, I do tend to slip in the odd “Oh, my Husband this and my Husband that…” just to really hit the message home. And it’s ridiculous, because A) so fucking what if I was an unmarried mother? and B) I don’t give the tiniest shit what the lady on the Lottery counter in Waitrose thinks she knows about me. I must have this one little, minute corner of my brain, which judges unmarried mothers and secretly yearns to dress in John Lewis slacks and an ancient Hermes scarf.

The long and short of it is, my poor little finger feels naked. I’d love another ring to replace the old one, and Husband has offered, but who can warrant just going out and splashing cash on a replacement wedding ring that you were stupid enough to lose, when you have an almost-three-year-old with a birthday coming up? So, for now, my finger will remain sad and naked.

Maybe I could draw a ring on…?

You Know You’re a Parent When…

  1. Someone steals your food from out of your hand as you’re lifting it up to your mouth, and you don’t punch them in the face.
  2. Someone presses your nipple in public and says “BOOP” and it doesn’t count as sexual assault.
  3. You’re less bothered by wee, poo, sick, bogies, toe-jam and other bodily functions than you ever thought possible.
  4. You forget what grown up telly is like, but know all of the words to the songs from Mr. Bloom and Octonauts Creature Reports.
  5. You’ll happily walk along the road singing at the top of your voice for your child’s entertainment, and don’t give the tiniest shit what people think.
  6. Thoughts of exotic holidays turn to “God, it’d be such a pain in the arse to go there”, instead you spend hours trying to work out the logistics of trying to get the family to Peppa Pig World, because your daughter would shit her pants with excitement if you took her there.
  7. You’ve adapted your walking pace to take bizarre half steps to accommodate your toddler, but still find yourself walking like it even when alone.
  8. Someone offers you the chance to lick their dinner off of their hands.
  9. Every waking moment is spent in various stages of anxiety and panic about whether you’re DOING. IT. RIGHT.
  10. Whilst doing…ahem…”grown up things”, no matter how ‘in-the-moment’ you are, there’s still a tiny part of your brain that’s on constant alert for you child walking in. It will be this way until they leave home.

Blog Something Funny!

 

Picture credit: avillagepantry.wordpress.com

In honour of Comic Relief, Him Up North has requested that we all blog something funny, and I thought this was a perfect opportunity to share a joke which is something of a favourite among my family.

 

A man goes to a Psychiatrist dressed entirely in cling-film. The Psychiatrist says “I can clearly see your nuts”.

 

BA-DUM-TSH!

Happy Red Nose Day, one and all!