I deserve a medal for the time I… [screeches to a halt] No, wait, WAIT I TELL YOU!
You have the timing all wrong on this prompt. Because this is totally all about the medals I am going to get for my
AMAZING, INCREDIBLE INVENTION.
“I simply must hear all about this amazing, incredible invention.”, I hear you say. Well sit back, and prepare to be awed beyond *echoey, ruler of the universe voice [you’ll have to use your imagination a bit, ‘kay?]* ALL AWE, EVERRRRR!
Okay, so. You know the time when you’re driving along the road, minding your own business, and some idiot cuts in front of you? Or turns without indicating? Or suddenly screeches to a halt? Or is clearly texting while he drives? Or might very well be drunk? Or is going at 2 miles an hour?
And you start to get the tiniest bit ratty. And one or two sweary-type words might slip out of the ol’ mouth.
Perhaps you flip him the bird (and, in the case of the incredibly amicable jackass I encountered the other week, may be flipped right back) or honk your horn, or scream at him from within the confines of your own car. Or tailgate her for a while (I would NEVER condone that – especially as it’s now illegal in the UK and carries fresh legislation against it, incurring you a hefty fine and points on your licence). Or regale your passenger(s) with the anatomical impossibilities of precisely what you wish he could go forth and do to himself, his mother and the dog…
My friends, your days of impotent frustration are OVER.
Please be upstanding to welcome into your lives, the marvellous, driving-frustration-be-gone, device;
The ‘Asshole Laser’.
A discreet, bonnet (that’s ‘hood’, for those of you who are American at home) -mounted device, wired to be operated from a series of buttons placed on your steering wheel, which will swivel to aim at the car of your choice and, when activated, will scribe the word “Asshole” deep into their paintwork.
You will find that your frustrations INSTANTLY dissipate, and you can drive on your merry way, secure in the knowledge that sneaky vengeance has been wrought, and the douchebag will definitely pay closer attention to driving style in future, to avoid the need for costly paint re-touching.
You’re welcome. Now let’s talk sponsorship…
I’m enjoying my last week of freedom – my new job starts on Monday. I’ve done most of the paperwork, I’ve been in to have my uniform fitted. I’ve applied for a parking pass (for the days when it’s too wet or cold to cycle) and I’ve ordered a book all about Diabetic Retinopathy, just to give me a bit of a heads-up and an advantage while studying (yes, I’m gonna get a Proper Qualification out of this).
Alas, my days of staying up beyond my timezone to chat with my American buddies are numbered. Seriously numbered. Like weekends only from now on *sigh*
My bid to be ‘Queen Of Everything For A Month’ has hit, not a wall, but a challenge. Today was 1/3 of the way through the squats challenge, and in spite of my desire for that perfect, peachy ass, I had to confess to Alyson (my contender to the prize) that actually, it’s pretty difficult now. She
totally sympathised snorted in derision, because she’s been doing the full sets ’til now, whereas I’ve been breaking them down into sets of 25s or 50s. I think my heinie might be getting kicked at this competition!
I also discovered that I am totally, TOTALLY vain. Which is a little repulsive (even to myself) but I looked in the mirror earlier this week and discovered that my hair had (for once) done something rather pleasing, so I asked (a tired and very long-suffering) Husby to take a little photo of me, with the nice hair, and I thought it turned out rather well. For me well.
Cos usually when I have my photo taken I look like a complete goon, and am disheartened, thinking along the lines “THAT’S what people see when they look at me? Good grief! I don’t look at ALL like that in MY head! Poor them…POOR ME! I look like THAT! Ewwwwww”
So when I posted this serendipitous pic on Facebook (and subsequently changed every profile pic I have going, to it) and received a gorgeously nice comment (Cheryl said I looked like a Merchant Ivory heroine. Admittedly, I had to look up what ‘Merchant Ivory’ was, but I was pretty happy when I found out), and then another one on Twitter from another awesome person (Okay, it was Caren, who might’ve mentioned the words “lovelier than a Jane Austen movie adaptation”), my head swelled up and I stopped being able to fit through doorways, but it hasn’t stopped me from preening.
Oh go ON then – I’ll show you the photo
|Vain, vain, vain. And probably going to Hell for vanity. And Narcissism.|
I enjoyed my first* guest post chez moi on Monday, kindly donated by none other than TToT co-host and all-round child-rearing, pig-wrangling, chook-herding, kitchen-building, snickerdoodle-baking SuperWoman, Christine.
And you know what was most interesting of all? The way it just all went on without me, but the comments went back and forth and flowed through my inbox (cos I get notifications when y’all leave any com. box sugar) and I just got to sit there and enjoy it all, quite vicariously!
*’first’ kind of implies a ‘second’, which I just don’t know about at the moment. Not because I object to the idea, but I’ve no idea who/why/how to ask…
Okay, I’ve been teasing everyone since last weekend about my wonderful trip to the Mecca of Shoes – the flagship Irregular Choice shop in Brighton. Not only did I buy shoes, I bought SHOES. Absolutely stunningly beautiful ones. Ones I couldn’t leave behind. Ones which made my feet happy and my heart sing. And made me jump around for joy in the shop. Just looooooooook:
|These are so new, NO-ONE has them yet. Bar me.|
|See the charms? Ice-cream, monkey and strawberry. WAY cute.|
|Just LOOK at the sparkly insides!|