My Life on a Plate

Grumpy Old Women

Well, I didn't get to bed much earlier but I'm up at a time I don't usuallly see. Still tired though but too uncomfortable and brain-awake to get back to sleep. Tuesday is a really busy day so maybe I'll slip into it at a quieter pace now. Or more likely will start reading and reviewing and end up racing around last minute as usual.

I started a book last night called 'Grumpy Old Women.' In the introduction are a list of signs of being one! Any more mature ladies reading this might like to check their score! Here are just some of the signs that amused me particularly...

1. Your bra size is practically a telephone number.
2. If you sit on a beanbag you have to call the emergency services to get you out.
3. You have to put your reading glasses on the end of your nose and glare over them like the headmistress in 'Please Sir.'
4. You remember 'Please Sir.'
5. You start to enjoy pottering.
6. Young men are afraid to be left alone with you in case you pounce.
7. If you wore a thong you'd look like a Sumo wrestler.
8. You start collecting used margerine pots and plastic bags.
9. You say to people 'That shows my age,' and they no longer contradict you.
10. You like a slip on shoe - saves all that bending.

I was pleased I didn't fit into these categories quite yet though!
1. You like a nice fountain pen.
2. You find Terry Wogan less annoying. (never)
3. You order your first pleated skirt from a catalogue. (never)
4. You become a morning person! (Hmmm - no comment.)

Anyway, that's a bit of meaningless trivia to start the day. Looks a pretty grey one as yet. I hear hubby noises from above so it looks like my peace is shattered for today. Some irritating jibes yesterday but no matter how hard I stress what annoys me, he just cannot see my reasoning. Small example. Late afternoon I went upstairs to send a few e-mails, then played a game of Scrabble. Hubby returned from golf, straight upstairs, came into the room where the computer is to shred some paper (urgent?) and asked 'Have you finished your writing?' When I pointed out later that it made me feel like a naughty schoolgirl who'd skipped her homework, he said he was only interested in reading it. Then shot himself in the foot by uttering 'I could see you were agitated, so you must have been playing the f****** Mexican.' He misses the point every time about what agitates me. Sorry, more meaningless trivia.

Better get moving. Oh, R is fine by the way. In fact R is more than fine. Given me a complex about my lack of effort to be fine!