I am only starting another post in a pathetic attempt to avoid an urgent and difficult (actually IMPOSSIBLE) task. Don't read this if you are having a nice day. I am on full whinge mode. It's nearly 1.00am and we have to return the football trophy that Monkey Boy was awarded last year for this year's ceremony thing. Football training is at 10.00am. The task is to disguise the bloody great chip in the base of the trophy.
We've had this thing in Monkey Boy's bedroom for a year with no incidents. We brought it downstairs last week to return it but missed training due to Thuglet's floppiness and hot water bottle impersonations. We had also not taken a picture of it with the football superstar in his gear - so that had to be quickly rectified. Bit cross it's taken me a year to do that. I bet he looks so different from a year ago when we should have done the photos. Well, I'm sure there is a picture of him receiving the bloody thing but as there were no announcements at last year's ceremony I didn't have a clue it was happening until he came running over to me by the bouncy bleedin' castle carrying it and yelling 'Look what I got!' I'd been not so patiently waiting for that damned part of the day with 2 loony younger brothers going *boing boing splatt aaaahhhhhh boing boing splatt aaaaahhhh* for 'kin hours in full sun on the only hot day of last summer. The picture that must exist would have been taken by the village's vampire psycho slut pretending to be a professional photographer. I shall not be handing money to that shit-for-brains for a picture of my boy.
At least by missing the whole awards thing (and the whole point of being stuck in that friggin' 'family fun day' in that godforsaken village of hell) I did avoid having to share breathing space with her. And now, just to add to those golden memories, (and that looming sinking feeling of another perfectly delightful Sunday in June spent in the same soul-scrunching way), I have now laid eyes on this fucking chip in the granite-y base of the bloody THING. I can hardly just hand it over in a brown paper bag and run away. His name's engraved on it - albeit misspelled. And that's another thing.....!!!!!!
Oh I don't know.... I'm no lover of this Saturday morning team. Not so much the people involved - the other mums and dads particularly (the usual stalwarts) are great. It's just that it all happens in the village of hell. The most claustrophobic smug up-its-own-arse irritating bloody village on the planet. With its very own species of mud. The place must have been founded on a bog for gods' sake. And, obviously, it is home to the viper bitch. This alone is reason enough to raze it to the ground. My eyes automatically narrow to cartoon villain slits even driving through the place - which I have to do on Friday's as well as bloody Saturdays.
I don't want to go to training tomorrow. I don't see why they still have to play football when the football season is well and truly over. I don't see why we have to spend so many weekends at bloody football tournaments anyway - especially as the team is crap and usually loses despite all the players being quite good. I don't want to go to another 'fun' awards day when I could be extracting my fingernails instead (infinitely preferable). And I don't want to be told off for breaking the fucking trophy. I just want to burn the whole place down instead. Could I? Come on - who'd miss it?
OK. Rant over. I'll put my toys back in my pram and dig out some black paint and superglue. It's a bit like taking the school hamster home for the holidays and discovering it's lost a leg. I'd probably try superglue then too. Like - what are they gonna do right? Hit me with it? It's bloody heavy actually. Come on girl, time for some invisible mending. You used to be a whizz with the ol fibreglass resin coating stuff and car body filler. Little granite chip should be a piece of piss. Stop sobbing! Get a grip!!
OR - I could hand it over in a spazzy way and sort of drop it and then blame them? Suddenly I see a light........... There's always another way of looking at something. It could work.
Or I could just lob it through the vulture whore's window. Now someone's finally using her noodle. I think I'll end with a song!
***sealions up me skirt....... drools on face still gleaming.....***