Every now and then (read not very often) I get the fee-vah.
The good little Sally Housewife/Super Mummy vapours.
It is not sweeping the ceilings kinda fee-vah – but they do look a little dusty – but bad enough to send my chillen scurrying away lest I wanna clean behind their ears or something.
Would probably need a stool to do that anyway.
So while I was mopping the floors (I KNOW! I totally had to spell check that word, it is so foreign. Probably French for ‘Mon Dieu that floor is sticky!’) I was eyeing off the toy box and the tv cabinet in the family room and thinking about how I could rearrange everything.
Oh and on the weekend I completely cleaned out my wardrobe (I KNOW! I totally had to spell check ‘cleaned’, I was thinking it was cleeeeened or something. Or spelt fuck-that-I-don’t-do-that-shit, like in my wedding vows. Totally made MPS’s aunties swoon with the loveliness of the phrase. Well I think they were swooning) and stored* all the clothes I haven’t worn in ages or used to look good before I got this huge arsed arse.
* when stored means chucked them all in garbage bags in the broken ensuite shower and closed the curtain.**
** I am pretty sure that when you do the ‘*’ thing it is supposed to be at the end of the posty thingy. Meh.***
*** you know that Meh is now in the dictionary? So why is the WordPress 2.7 spell checker still doing the underline? Keep up with the times WordPress 2.7 spell checker! And while you are at it, how about adding ‘WordPress’ to your list of words?****
**** It has come to my attention that you can add words to the WordPress 2.7 spell checker. But I say FUCK THAT SHIT I am paying good money… wait… ignore that… as you were…
So I have been cleaning and rearranging and then I was all ‘Lets all go shopping! And not to the local easy to get to, go in and out, no other shops around supermarket. No, lets go to the shopping centre with tons of shops and people and stuff and food courts with their totally overpriced food where Boo is guaranteed to chuck a fucking huge meltdown of epic proportions’ to buy cleaning stuff.
And Hot Dogs.
And Twisties Zig Zags.
Cause my arse just ain’t wide enough.
And the things on my shopping list that I made when I was menu planning.
Oh. Yes. I. Did.
So I get everyone ready. Pack my NEW fabulous handbag that Santa brought me a week late (bastard) and go to walk out the door.
Hmmm. Where are my car keys?
Call MPS who admits that he has both sets. And he got a lift to work today so no-fucking-need for car keys.
So I rip him a new arse via telephony and he drops everything to bring the keys so I can take our little darlings out shopping. Where ‘drops everything’ means takes his sweet arsed time while Too and Boo are all ‘whine whine whiney whine’. We do the shopping thang. I drop some serious cash on MORE back to school shit and Boo does not disappoint by chucking a wobbly in Safeway, the food court and the carpark.
And then, THEN the arm that has been niggly hurty for the last few weeks decides to completely cease to work and hang limply and pathetically at my side in a sort of fuck you and your housewifey adventures gesture.
Housework and Awesome Mummy equals pain and necessitates copious amounts of drugs and alcohol.
Now I know why those 50’s housewives were so fucking chipper.