You may remember that I wrote a post in which I half-heartedly said that I would be doing dry January. Well, that ain’t happening. I have postponed it to February (maybe). January is not the month for making ourselves even more miserable. I was doing rather well until I had one day that just tipped me over the edge and made me think I need wine o’clock this weekend!
It started with me doing the school run. The weather was so bad that I passed Noah and his ark on the way to school. I kicked (sorry, gently ushered) Oldest out of the car at the school gates and made my way down the country lanes, ON MY SIDE OF THE ROAD, to find that I had to slam my brakes on as a man was haring down the lanes, weaving in and out, and towards me like he is some sort of stunt driver. He then has the audacity to shake his fist and swear at me. Youngest, in the back, wanted to know what his problem was, to which I replied,
“Darling, I suspect he is having a bad day like Mummy. Actually, he probably has small man syndrome or just has a tiny…”
You get the picture. On a normal day if I had run in (nearly) to a delightful man like this I would have waved my hand like the Queen and shouted,
“YOU ARE WELCOME”
Today I decided that wasn’t enough. I am not a lady that swears in conversation but this man had peeved me off and as such I made the w&nker sign at him and shouted,
“Drive on the right side of the road you massive…”
and then I mouthed this bit because, like I said, I am not a sweary person and I didn’t want Youngest hearing it (I do have some standards), “C*CK”. The man was suitably shocked and in my head I gave myself mental high-fives. I could hear “Eye of the Tiger” playing in my head. He was clearly a bully and a man who is used to barging his way everywhere and through everything. You know the type of person I mean. His whole life has been spent expecting you to move out of the way for him. It’s not his fault, he has probably found that was his life since he was 10 years old. I just needed to remind him that this isn’t his god given right to push everyone else out of the way. He does not have right of way on the road because of who he is.
I then tootled onto the shop to find that I forgotten my purse and had to leave all my shopping behind. Youngest was not amused (understatement of the century) and I was briefly tempted to leave her behind too. I then dashed to take Youngest to pre-school to discover that I had forgotten her bag, hat, scarf and gloves. Cue Youngest having a tantrum again. This time I could leave her behind. I might have skipped to the car post-haste.
I finally made it home to find our tax return waiting for us. Delightful! It just was turning out to be a brilliant day. Next, I had an appointment at the doctors. Now in Jersey, we have to pay for the privilege of going to the doctors. I think it is about £40. I don’t know why but I always mentally equate that money, it could be a new top or dress, that is 3 days of food shop, wine, a month’s gym membership etc etc. Can you tell that I hate going to the doctors and will only go if I am actually desperate. I won’t bore you with details but finally I gave into my husband’s nagging and went. It was a 2 for 1 type thing. I thought I would wait until I had two things to mention and get my money’s worth. I’m not sure what paying for a doctor’s appointment means exactly but the receptionists are smiley and they do sit behind a swish desk. There are also lovely seats but there are still no magazines and the doctor was still running 15 minutes late! Outrageous. I was tempted to swipe some bog roll from the toilets to get my money’s worth.
When I finally got in I spoke about the other thing and then told her about my strange growth. Now I am not going to describe it. Just take my word for it, there is nothing quite like this growth. It is revolting, disgusting. It is right on the sole of my foot and with training for the moonwalk I have become even more aware of it. I have kept this little bad boy, let’s call my growth Gary, hidden up for at least a year. I know, I am stupid. Anyway, I get it out and Gary is there looking all proud. I swear the doctor shuddered before declaring that she has seen nothing like it, EVER and that she doesn’t know what to do with it. I tell her that I want it gone, that Gary has outstayed his welcome. She then gets something out of a box, I don’t what it was, kryptonite? It looked space-age; Superman would have been afraid of it. She then shoots this thing and it effectively freezes my foot. She does this three times, each time it getting more painful as I grip the seat and mutter under my breath –
“For the love of…..”
It is like torture and the worst thing is that I have to pay extra for this, for the privilege of having my foot frozen and it hasn’t even worked! Gary has defrosted but he is still there on my foot. I can feel him now, mocking me as I type this. I am now going to have go back. However, in the meantime Dr Google (aka Mr C) has been googling it and has told me that he has found what it is. I think he is right and, as a result, has freaked me out as I have now read what it says. Dr Google always like to exaggerate and I also can’t unsee the photos he showed me.
It was not a good day. I was then offered a free holiday that I had to turn down. Finally, I received some sad news. That was it, no more dry January! January is hellish enough, I have school runs (which are even worse at the moment as they have closed half the roads to resurface), Gary squatting on my foot, never-ending rain, I’m skint, men driving like bats out of hell, tax returns, I’m training for a flipping marathon and Youngest’s nursery is closing down!
January is all about the retox. Booze and beige food here I come. Who is with me? Cheers to that.
Ps – never google feet in images. NEVER. My eyes, my poor eyes.