Yesterday marked 6 months until the wedding. Sarge and I celebrated by opening some sparkly from the engagement party and watching a double-bill of The Usual Suspects and Mixed Nuts. Guess which one was my choice. And. We were also toasting the the fact that I quit my job on Friday. Although I prefer the term ‘left voluntarily’. See, the giant stresshead I mentioned in my last post kinda exploded. The first flowery boot dropped on Thursday night at a…
The first and only time I danced on a table it buckled underneath me. My friends lifted me, in the chair, onto the table because it was the only free space on which to dance. I was 18 and liked to dance. I was also drunk. All other space that night was taken up by girls dancing around their handbags and boys dancing around girls. On a crowded dance floor, I am usually considered a fire hazard. A fire hazard…
Sarge and I still date. Each other. It’s allowed. And also important. When he’s working late, and I’m not working enough, dating is a way for us to remember what the other one looks like without tired eyes (his) or PMS (mine). These days, our dates are weekend trips to the movies after having coffee that Sarge doesn’t have to make for me. And I promise, these dates do differ from our nights in with fish and chips and a…
A few months after I got my favourite pen, my Dad packed it and the rest of my life into the car and drove me down to University. As The Dixie Chicks blasted out of the speakers and through the open windows, I was as excited as I’d ever been up to that point in my life. Scared shitless, but excited. Pretty much ever since then, I’ve employed Personal Assistants to help me do any of the stuff that can…
