Bank holiday wankers and the feels. 

General Nonsense

FINALLY! It’s Friday. The beautiful, curly-haired, freckle-faced bastard lovechild of Saturday and Sunday…

Ah but let’s not get too carried away. One is working tomorrow and one isn’t seeing one’s loved one until Sunday. And one doesn’t get the bank holiday on Monday which to all intents and purposes is an English bank holiday. One has terrible bank holiday envy. 

Stuck in traffic on the way home from the wee Tesco (Dumfries folk will know where that is) it was all I could do to stop myself from lowering my driver’s side window and shouting “BANK HOLIDAY WANKERRRRS!” at the top of my voice to nobody in particular, presumably much to the bemusement of the alleged bank holiday wankers. 

I’ve had the intermittent sads today. And all the feels. I couldn’t have picked a worse day to have the feels. I was press ganged by the makeup artist wean into spending an arm and a leg on some new makeup after she’d rootled and tutted her way through what I laughingly call my makeup bag which consists of a bacteria riddled foundation sponge, a foosty old blusher, a Ruby Woo lippy, a dried up mascara and seventy two “lipstick dotter” tissues, which may or may not have been used to dot one’s lipstick but rather used for less salubrious  purposes in unmentionable places. The new makeup (MAC, if you must know. Hopefully MAC are reading this and will send me a shitload of MAC makeup now that I’ve mentioned MAC four times. MAC MAC MAC. Seven times. If you’re reading this, MAC, PM me hon. I’ll send you my address) consists of some lovely gel eyeliner and some other overpriced snake oil potions and lotions. The gel eyeliner required a lesson from the wean. She demonstrated one eye beautifully. I did the other and OF COURSE I got bored and made an arse of it. I tried again this morning but after six cotton bud corrections I declared “Och that’ll dae!” and sashayed out to work. One good cry would’ve sent it running down my face, so as I say it wasn’t a good day to have the sads and the feels. 

Ordinarily I’d get drunkelstiltskin on French Martinis and smoke fagatthebackdoor on a Friday night such as this but I’ve work tomorrow. The most exciting thing I’ll do tonight is cut my toenails, moisturise my feet and think about the weight I could’ve lost by now if I’d stuck to that diet in February. All while eating half defrosted profiteroles. 

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