A Little Treat

I fancied a brisk walk into town and back, yesterday morning, but, unfortunately, it was pouring with rain. I didn't feel like walking in such miserable weather, so I decided, instead, to spoil myself with a long, luxurious bath, as opposed to my usual shower. I thought that I would do the housework first, whilst in my night clothes, rather than afterwards, so I didn't start preparing for my little treat until about 10.30am.

I began to collect together various products to pamper myself, as well as mixing up some olive oil and honey, so that I could moisturise my neck and face, whilst I soaked in the bath and relaxed. I lined up some 'decadently creamy, foaming bath soak', 'intensive, conditioning body lotion' and 'softening foot cream with shea butter' on the bathroom shelf, then went downstairs to make myself a Cappuccino. As soon as it was ready, I took it up to the bathroom, along with a Choco Leibniz, my digital radio and a new paperback.

After undressing, I stepped into the warm, foamy water and lowered myself into the bath, but just as my eager bum cheeks hit the surface of the water, the doorbell rang. I felt slightly irritated, but, assuming that it was the postman, even though I wasn' t expecting anything, I leapt out of the bath, threw on my dressing gown and raced downstairs to open the door. The postman thrust a fairly large parcel, addressed to my son, into my wet hands, followed by a pen, as he needed a signature. I ignored the rather meaningful, but disgusted glance he shot in my direction, as he realised that I was still wearing my night clothes at 11 in the morning, whilst he had been hard at work since 6. He turned abruptly, after retrieving his pen, dashing back towards his van, as if to convince me that his life was filled with a purpose, which mine evidently lacked. On my return to the bathroom, I smiled and lowered myself back into the bath, wincing slightly as my ample posterior bypassed the, by now, rather cool bath suds, to sink, once more, into the all-embracing warmth of the sweet-smelling water.

I brushed the honey and olive oil onto my face and neck, before reaching out for the chocolate biscuit, allowing my mouth to water, just a little, as I anticipated the smooth chocolate touching my excited tongue. The chocolate and crumbs combined into a delightful mixture, as I ate, but, regrettably and all too swiftly, the Choco Leibniz was gone. I reached for my coffee, then, just as I closed my eyes to savour the delicious, incomparable taste of the frothy Cappuccino, the telephone rang. I felt quite irritated, tensing for a moment, before deciding that the caller would have to leave a message, if it was anything of importance.

After draining my Cappuccino, I picked up my book with the intention of settling down to enjoy a good half an hour's read, but something caught my eye, before my glance fell upon the page. Hmm..... From my sitting position, I could see that the skirting board needed a coat of paint, as did the door. I'd forgotten that I hadn't had time to finish painting the woodwork in the bathroom, before I tidied everything away, when we had visitors at New Year. I felt very irritated.

I tried to return to my book, just as something else caught my eye. In the light from the window, catching the shower fitting and the wall tiles, I could see some limescale, which needed to be removed and some mildew, on the grouting. I began to feel exceedingly irritated. Averting my eyes, I attempted to focus, again, on the first page of my book, but I couldn't relax. My eyes darted from side to side, as I glanced around the room. From this particular angle, I could see the pedestal supporting the sink and the waste pipe behind. Both needed wiping. The floor tiles would have benefited from a good vacuuming, too. By this time, I was feeling exceptionally irritated.

I finished the rest of my bath, in record time, towelled myself dry, applied body lotion, foot lotion, dressed and immediately set about blitzing the bathroom, with a potentially explosive mixture of Limelight, Viakal and Dettol mould remover. I raced downstairs and back up again with the heavy, cumbersome vacuum cleaner in tow, then vacuumed the bathroom, followed by the other rooms, whilst I was up there, then finished with the stairs.

After putting the vacuum away, I stood in the hall, for a few seconds, to catch my breath. Phew! I was so hot and sticky, after expending so much energy, that I really needed a shower..........

Blogless Days

I'm sorry that I've neglected my blogging duties over the past few days, but not one person has requested an application form for any of the job opportunities, which I advertised in my last post! I can't imagine why not! Most of the vacancies were aimed at women and most of the people visiting my blog, are female, as far as I know. I'm beginning to doubt that any of you are used to working for low pay, or no pay!

Unfortunately, I left it rather late to advertise for help. I have to admit that, over the last few months, my blogging habit has resulted in a backlog of household chores. I've caught the bedclothes trying to make their own way to the laundry basket, on more than one occasion, just recently. The cobwebs, hanging from the ceiling, in our house, have been as thick as jungle vines, but they've come in very handy for swinging over the mountainous piles of ironing, which have taken on lives of their own, lately, continually running around the house in an endless search for the ironing board and iron. The garden has become so overgrown that family members are afraid to venture into it, without taking a precautionary packed lunch and thermos. It became necessary, therefore, for me to start catching up with the backlog of my own chores, over the past few days.

On the first day, I tackled some of the washing, which I had hoped to leave to the laundress. This included my poor, cream jumper, which had been in soak for a fortnight, since I dropped chocolate cake and raspberry coulis down the front of it, whilst visiting a local cafe, with one of my friends. It was an extremely pleasant surprise to find that my favourite jumper hadn't rotted away, but was, once again, stain-free. Hooray for Stergene Handwash! Complimentary goods to the usual address, please.

The next day, I forced myself to act as companion to one of my other friends, as she wished to visit a nearby ornamental garden and plant centre. My clean jeans were still wet, an hour before she was due to arrive, so I had to light the gas fire to dry them off. When the doorbell rang 50 minutes later, I was wearing my damp jeans, but still ironing the creases out of my newly-washed t-shirt. My friend was quite bemused, when I explained why my house was as hot as the devil's kitchen. She was obviously the sort of person who habitually went to bed at 10pm, got up at 6am and had all of her chores done, by the time some of us were still trying to force open our eyes, and find our way to the bathroom, with the vain hope of avoiding a full-length sprawl on the landing, in the process. She couldn't understand how I could be so disorganised!

We set off a mere 15 minutes later than intended, for the gardens and plant centre, where I was compelled to enjoy myself, throughout the whole of the day, admiring the beautiful borders, having lunch in the cafe, enthusing over the handmade items in the craft gallery and buying new additions for my own garden, in the plant centre. It was incredibly hard work and all for no financial reward! I have to confess that I overspent a little, in the plant centre, however!

The following morning, I had to meet some of my friends for coffee and then, whilst doing my own shopping, in the supermarket, a duty I had intended to leave to my newly-appointed cook, I picked up some flowers, for another friend, and walked to her house, to deliver them in person. My husband and I had enjoyed a lovely meal at her house, a few days before, so I wanted to take her some flowers as a thank you. I drank more coffee with my friend, forgetting to visit the loo before leaving her house, so I very much regretted that I hadn't worn my new, stylish, easy to wear, discreet and comfortable tena pants, that day, as I sprinted the last few yards of my journey home!

For the next 4 days, it was necessary for me to work in my own garden, as there had been no interest, whatsoever, in the gardening position I advertised in my last post. At the end of the first, long day of my gardening duties, I noticed that my right knee was quite painful, and after a lot of probing, I eventually removed the half-inch thorn, which had spitefully pierced my flesh at some time during the day. I searched, in vain, for some antiseptic cream to apply to my wound, but I suddenly recalled that my eldest son was away for the night and I realised that he had most probably taken the cream with him, to apply to his newly-tattooed, right, upper arm. DON'T GO THERE! By the next morning, the condition of my knee appeared to have worsened, the area surrounding the site of the puncture, appearing red and hot to the touch. I limped around, nobly, for the next 3 days, continuing with my unpaid gardening duties, regardless of the pain and discomfort!

I couldn't work on any of my embroidery projects over the last week, due to a recurring problem with my eyes, but I was able to catch up with a lot of my cleaning and ironing. The direct result of my busy week, therefore, is that I am 'laid up' on the sofa, suffering, exhausted and whimpering softly. I regret to report that I contracted pneumonia from wearing my damp jeans, at the beginning of the week, which turned into double pneumonia, by the time I had spent 4 days working, stripped to the waist, in the garden, towards the end of the week. I can hardly straighten up, because of my aching muscles and I'm suffering from septicaemia, due to the thorn which pierced my right knee.

Okay, so I may have exaggerated my ailments, just a little, but my frequent suffering has served to convince me that full-time blogging is definitely a safer and, on the whole, a more desirable option, for the mean, moody middle-aged woman, than life in the real world. After all, I've never found it necessary to wear damp clothes, never had to admit to any of my friends that I'm totally disorganised, never overspent, never come so close to sullying my clean undergarments, never suffered aching muscles, exhaustion, or had a thorn go into my knee, due to blogging on my computer. From now on, it's definitely going to be a blogger's life for me!

The Sock Incident

There is a pair of socks outside our bedroom door. They have been there for several days, and I have finally mustered up the enthusiasm to try and trace their owner.

My 2 older sons are missing, so I pick up the socks, which are obviously in need of washing, and head downstairs, in search of the fourth male-who-knows-everything in my life - my youngest son. I find him in the living room.

"Do you know who these socks belong to?" I ask, turning them to the right side.

"They're 'Playboy' socks. They belong to *******," (eldest son) he replies.

"Oh!" I say. "I wasn't sure whether they belonged to ********" (middle son).

"No, those are his," he explains, pointing outside, in the vague direction of the patio. I walk closer to the window, and see a pair of socks over the back of one of the garden chairs.

"Obviously," I mutter, with as much sarcasm as I can muster.

"What?" He looks at me, wide-eyed and incredulous. I open my mouth to try and explain. A few words fall out of my open mouth, but they do not emerge in any intelligible pattern, and I realise that I am unable to explain. It all makes sense to him. I am feather-brained, so I should not concern myself with such a complex problem. I admit defeat. At least I know what to do with the socks.

I go back upstairs, and add them to my eldest son's pile of laundry, which he insists on keeping on the landing, outside the door of his seething pit. I remember that he has been staying at his girlfriend's house for the last few nights. I pick up his laundry pile, and drop it on the floor, just inside his seething pit. I close the door with a grin of satisfaction. The landing is now clear of clutter. I could even vacuum it, if I was so inclined. I am not.

I have already achieved something, today. I have tidied away a pair of socks, and a pile of laundry. I live in a household full of men. I have learned to be content with very little. I am content.