There has been altogether far too much whinging and whining on this blog these past few months, so time for something more cheerful. Even if it's only to distract myself from fantasising about being able to shove a metal coat hanger under my skin to scratch the particularly delightful combination of spinal, rib and withdrawal pain. Chatting with a friend this afternoon I was forced to admit that my middle of the night fantasies only feature one thing these days...an anaesthetist with a big bag of unconsciousness inducing drugs. Ah, a girl can dream...
It's been a funny few days for me, almost as if, and not wanting to tempt fate in any way, but almost as if I'm a 'normal' person doing 'normal' things. Sorta. Being quizzed by a complete stranger about your sex life probably isn't that normal when I come to think about it, but it was something to do on a friday afternoon.
Though I'm enjoying noming my way through all sorts of foods I usually don't eat, I'm aware my time is up on the current gluten binge. The blistering on my feet and thrush should've been a clue, but really, when compared to pizza what's a little vaginal itching between friends? In that spirit I took my neighbour's daugther to MaccyD's on friday evening. She's a lovely kid and as one friend later commented it must've been nice for me to go out with someone shorter than I am (neighbour's daughter being 10) It probably would've been if said 10 year old hadn't recently grown about 4 inches taller than me, but we didn't let that spoil our fun and the growth spurt helpfully provided the ability to eat most of my meal as well as it's own.
Then on Saturday I went to meet Jenn for a coffee and serious discussion. About men, obviously, there are no other serious issues to be discussed on a Saturday afternoon. That turned into a mooch around the local shops, hurrah for wheelchairs, then on bumping into another friend a drink and catch up. Lovely.
I'd arranged to meet a date for brunch on Sunday morning, having not initially twigged it was Valentine's Day. Fortunately the place I'd chosen to meet was B&Q so most of the advertising induced romance could be avoided. Classy chick me.
Now, the last internet date I went on I found myself realising part way through that the guy was in all probability a gangster. An old fashioned, 'honest', won't knife you in the throat gangster, but still, probably a gangster. He was charming and perfectly gentlemanly, but I'm not really up for the role of moll. My standards are high, oh yes. High, but not very accurate it would seem, I may have been spending much time fantasising about an anaesthetist but I had to settle for a cardiologist. On Valentine's Day. I'm really not making this up, honest-if I had that kind of imagination I'd be working for Mills and Boon rather than scrounging off the state.
Despite my cunning techniques to put the guy off, including but not limited to, spitting down a didgeridoo and insisting he help relocate my thumb the date seemed to go very well. Well enough for brunch to become lunch and then dinner anyway. There may also have been some texting today. Reviews are so far overwhelmingly positive, but I'll let you know for sure once I've had the opportunity to throw up all over his house. It's my new number one way of judging a man's character. Ability to be turned on by the scent of cannabis and deep heat can only be a bonus.