Wednesday, 29 March 2017

Talk to me...

I finished off the patio yesterday much to the relief of my entire body.  I tell you, last night's Pilates session hurt less than those six hours of pressure washing.  Also, why we can't have a patio on a slope so that all the excess water drains away, I shall never know. I spent most of yesterday slopping a wet yard broom up and down, as I tried to push the water in any direction other than over the top of my wellies.  But it's done.  I've left the pressure washer out, as I know for a fact that the husband will be doing spot checks over the weekend.  I'm hoping that between now and then, it will rain, which might help rinse the dust puddles away thus letting me off the hook.

On Monday, Mrs S, my goddaughter Miss N and I went to see Beauty and the Beast at the local flea pit.  The one with real-ish people in it.  I got there early (as usual), and called Mrs S to get her coffee order.  Now unfortunately, you can only buy coffee at the ice cream counter, so I snuck in an order for two scoops of mint choc chip and banana caramel as a chaser and waited for my order.

I'm not saying she was slow, but the first coffee was lukewarm by the time the third had been made, and because my ice cream had been done first, it was swilling around in the cardboard pot like a rather thick milkshake.  While she was doing the coffees, Mrs S and Miss N tipped up and waited with me.

'Do you want sugar?' droned Speedy.

Looking at the other two, I said that no we didn't.   Five minutes later, she asked...

'Want chocolate powder on the coffees?'  I didn't even bother asking the other two, as the trailers were about to start.  'No chocolate thank you.  I'm on a diet', I quipped, taking a sneaky sip of my ice cream.  Mrs S and Miss N found this highly amusing, but Speedy didn't register at all.  I expect that she had a quiet smile to herself just as she was clocking off.

The film was wonderful, and it reminded me of sitting through the cartoon version time after time after bloody time with daughter number two.  No wonder I was crying through most of this version - fear can do that to a person.  Seriously though, it was very clever and romantic, and it made me think what my furniture would say to me if it had the chance...

The wardrobe would shout at me to 'Put that back as you don't stand a hope in hell of squeezing your derriere into it', while the fridge would be growling, 'Step away from the fridge Lardy'.  I'd like to think that the sofas would be kinder and would plump up my cushions before I laid my weary head down, although there could be a bit of flack from them with regard to the inappropriate abuse which Reg inflicts on them when I'm at work.

The way I felt last night, after the Pilates and pressure washing, all I wanted was for my duvet to open up on my bed and be tucked in while it murmured. 'There, there, there' into my ear.

Having said that, I think that the husband just may have actually done that...


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