As I had said in an earlier post, the lovely people at Brit Mums were so organised that they had decided to announce the finalists a whole day earlier than planned. I would like to say that I played it cool, but I didn’t. As a result of this news my kids now believed that they were eating duck covered in bread crumbs and not any old duck, the cute loveable duck from Sarah and Duck. Yep, it is a torturous tale. I was left with a weird mix of emotions on hearing the news. On the one hand I really didn’t think I had a chance of making the finals but on the other hand, deep down, I really wanted to make the finals. However, I kept reminding myself that it was an honour to have made the shortlist and I tried to keep busy.
So how did I keep busy? Mainly by sending Prabs from Absolutely Prabulous a million messages who was in the throes of an equal torturous evening as she too had made the shortlist. In the end I went to bed and amazingly I fell fast asleep really quickly. Annoyingly I woke up at 5:30 am. I didn’t even wake up that early on the day I married Mr C! Could I get back to sleep, no? I distracted myself by reading lots of blogs. The time that the results were due to be announced was 6:30 am. As the hands on the clock gradually edged closer to the time I found it increasingly harder to concentrate on what I was reading. Finally, at 20 past 6 I could bare it no longer and I decided to have a shower. This was met to much astonishment from Mr C, not because I was having a shower, I do have a shower everyday you will be relieved to know. No, he was surprised that I was getting in the shower now, when it was almost d-day. To be honest I was convinced that I wouldn’t make it to the finals so I had reasoned that if I was going to be disappointed then I would want to be clean and disappointed. Does that make sense? It’s like when I don’t wear matching underwear or if I am wearing my ever so comfortable but ever so large granny pants. On those days I am sure that it will the be the day that something bad will happen. Something that requires a paramedic. Then when they should be saving my life they will be distracted by my hideous granny pants and mismatching underwear and instead of saving me they will be laughing at how huge my pants are. I also have the same fear when I haven’t had time to shave my legs. Completely normal, right?
Anyway, I digress. The time clicked closer and just as the clock was about to hit 6:30 I told Mr C that I couldn’t look. Mr C being the very patient man that he is explained that I had nothing to fear and that either outcome I had done really well to get this far. I agreed but still refused to look. Mr C then become exasperated,
“woman you have to look” I then became extremely offended and might have shouted back.
“Don’t call me woman, you…..you….YOU MAN”.
This caused him to laugh, “are you not a woman?”
I then might have muttered a swear word before I replied with a defeated “yes”.
Cue a smug Mr C, “well then”. This immediately made me see red and set me off on a rant.
“I find it extremely offensive that you are insinuating that I was acting like a woman by not looking at the results. Why could I not be acting like a man by not looking at the results?”
To cut a long story short Mr C sneakily went and looked at the results and told me the amazing news that I was a finalist. This then caused me to repeat, “stop pulling my leg” followed by “are you sure? Then there was the stunned silence.
I had to let my mum know but also knowing her fondness for naked yoga in the morning I decided to send her the finals list via WhatsApp. This was my safest option. Straightaway she sent the following message –
Not opening up. Think ending is missing on address.
It wasn’t missing. I think my mum was just trying to force me to ring her. She seems to take great delight in making me shout “stop it Mother”. The other day I rang her and she didn’t answer. She then rang an hour later to tell me,
“sorry, I didn’t answer your call but I was doing the cleaning naked and to pick up the phone I would have had to moonwalk past the front door and I could have given the postman a shock again, not a nasty one but a shock all the same”.
Now you can understand why I was determined not to ring her. Nearly every phone call with my mum leaves me with questions – like “why do you clean naked?” And “what other shocks have you given the postman?”
So that is how d-day with the BiBs went. I can honestly say that I haven’t stopped smiling since.
A massive and soppy thank you to everyone that took the time to vote for me, I always said that you were a lovely lot
Now I have an excuse to get my party shoes on and go dancing. Yaaay.