Don’t bother reading this. It reeks of desperation and barrel scraping. Not much to report today. Busy day in gainful employment so let’s all thank The Lord Harry for that, as an ex mother-in-law was wont to say, which made my eyeballs swivel all the way to the back of my head in crabbitness.
Had my evening stroll round the parish with Tucker, pausing only to sniff particularly sexy lampposts and do tiny bits of widdle (him not me) and a traumatic incident for both of us involving my having to pull bits of sparkly stringy poop out of his butt following an earlier hat pompom eating incident. Oh and let us not forget his new hobby – growling and barking like a loon at people in mobility scooters and boys of a certain age in hats who look unemployed. He’s bordering on UKIP. He’s a doggy Nigel Farage, only with added sparkly butt poop.
Oh wait! I have news! Remember the clusterfuck of life admin lurking in the hall cupboard in the Tesco carrier bag for life? Well…I took it out of the cupboard today! And I actually plugged in the house phone and phoned BT! About the shitty BT telly! I phoned to cancel it and guess what? They wouldn’t let me. They just kinda made it sound like everything including the Boer war whatever that is is my fault and I felt obliged to keep it. I’ve only been building up to that phone call for six months. What threw me was that when I was talking on the phone and guddling at the back of the telly I had to put the house phone on loudspeaker then couldn’t get it off again so we were bellowing awkwardly at each other with me spelling out my postcode “IT’S DEE FOR DAVID GEE FOR GEORGE TWO FOR EHHH TWO…NO NO DEE FOR DAVID GEE FOR GEO…NO…DEE…DEE…DEEEEEE”
I never watch the feckin’ telly. I think it’s because it’s too far away from where my eyes are. God knows why I’ve agreed to keep the shitty thing but there we have it. I need to be more assertive but I’m too much of a people pleaser. Here’s a cake! Like me! Tell me you love me!
Haven’t said vagina once in this post.