Freak out! Has been the theme of this morning. And, as the title of this entry suggests, unlike the song, it has not been chic. Not even moderately stylish. It's been an all out shambles of freak, if we're talking fashion metaphors here, it's been like the biggest wardrobe malfunction since Timmy Mallet. The biggest hair-style no-no since Ann Widdecombe. The biggest shoe disaster since Alvin Stardust broke his ankle wearing 6 inch platforms (get in for musical knowledge, girl...)
D has gone mad! Who has stolen my happy little son? I just tried to feed him some pasta a moment ago and I'm not sure whether he thought I'd mixed cyanide into it or something, but the reaction / freak out was immensely severe. The meatballs went the same way. It's a shame, they were damned nice, but not so nice after being thrown under the washing machine and accumulating a layer of dirt and hair. The carrot didn't even get a look in, and as for the cucumber, I didn't even bother to take it out of the fridge. It was safer in there. To be dealt into D's hands would have meant instant doom.
The weather isn't helping our general frame of mind either. There is no other way of putting it - it sucks. It sucks balls. I headed out to Tesco earlier and got caught in the most mega rain shower ever; which I admit, I got really needlessly ratty about and started walking along the puddle-riddled streets muttering and swearing under my breath, which may have convinced the people of the town (all sensibly wearing macs and cagouls, grr) that I was completely off my rocker. Yes, I admit, it was a teeny tiny bit prattish to go out wearing just a thin jumper and a skirt. (pause). And flip flops. Yes, the flip flops were definitely a bit silly. Especially when all the leaves on the ground went mulchy in the rain and I ended up nearly sliding on my arse about ten times.
Nashings of teeth. Boo.
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