I am Sexy Cows Mum

My neighbours are cows. Fooking cows. ๐Ÿ„๐Ÿ‚๐Ÿฎ

Last night they kept us awake from 4am with their shenanigans.

You see, having been separated for quite a while, the cows ๐Ÿ„and the Bulls๐Ÿƒ were reunited yesterday evening.

“Moooooh! New Bulls, New Bulls!” the cows mooed at each other on the arrival of the Boyos. ๐Ÿƒ๐Ÿƒ๐Ÿƒ๐Ÿƒ๐Ÿƒ๐Ÿƒ๐Ÿƒ

“Moooooooh! Udders! Udders everywhere lads. Quick! Chests up and strut!” roared Billy Big Balls and his buddies.๐Ÿฎ๐Ÿฎ๐Ÿฎ

The cows immediately began to measure up the biggest boyo, while the bulls, each certain of their own alpha-moo-ness, ๐Ÿƒstrutted around like feckin Paycocks, shouldering each other out of the way, showing off their Bullsiness and trying to make the other Bulls look less Bullsy. ๐Ÿ‚

The Cows flicked their hair, ๐Ÿฎchewed their cuds seductively and plumped their udders, some standing aloof, pretending not to be affected by the arrival of the testosterone, but watching every member of their tribe of fake BFFs with suspicion and jealousy.

When the human neighbours went to bed, all of the competitors were well behaved and seemed to have settled in to their new surroundings. But somewhere in the field, under the romantic half light of the stars, they found Viagara or Red Bull, and possibly some Benweed, which they mixed to form a drink like Yaga-Bullmers๐Ÿท, leading to an early morning Moo-fest. ๐Ÿ„๐Ÿƒ๐Ÿ„๐Ÿƒ๐Ÿ„๐Ÿƒ๐Ÿ„

Some time around 3.30am, their sir-loins could take no more and they gave in to temptation…

And by the sounds of things, every bull had a go on every cow and then they had a fecking singsong to celebrate their rumps being pumped. ๐Ÿƒ๐Ÿ„

This morning, all were calm and knackered, possibly hungover from the mayhem of their party.

Tonight, they’re ready for another session and are already shoulder pumping and stomping.

It’s like they’ve never seen a Moomber of the opposite sex before. And with the heat on, the bets-ies are off.

It’s like an episode of Love Fecking Island here. They’re just not quite as orange. ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜˜

Cows next door? Never a bull moment…

I am Spin & Rinse Them Mum

How often do you do your washing then?

And by washing, I mean your kids?

Are you one of those Mammies I envy who can manage to wash their Minions every night? With a peaceful and practiced routine which includes fluffy towels, Pink skin amd Smiling cherubs?

Or are you like me?

The shameful excuse for a Mammy who gives them a deep clean once a week and sometimes throws them in for a rinse and spin midweek if there’s a chance that social services might be called as a result of the spud-growing levels of soil which could be ploughed under their Nails…

For whom the thought of wrestling the two skinnyarses out of the bath, (getting them INTO it is never a challenge!), Screams at the hairdrying regardless of how much conditioner is used and the general BOMBSITE into which the house descends, are enough to make Mammy consider grapes at 5pm…

The Mammy of the kids who are the OPPOSITE of the angels who get tired by a bath at bedtime? The kids who absorb the energy of the feckin water through their pores and end up BOUNCING for 45 minutes after being exorcised… sorry extracted, from the bubbles. (Yes even the lullaby-ing lavender-y Spensive bubbles).

Regardless of which of these you are, as long as they’re happy, does it REALLY matter how dirty they are?

And really, a dirty child is a healthy child yeah?
And the smell of a clean minion is short-lived anyway isn’t it?

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And really, how often we do our washing is the same amount of other people’s business as how many times a day we fart, is it not?ย 

 

Have you found me on Bookface and Instagranny yet?

 

I am Sleepover Club Mum – a Review

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The Sleepover Club is a new company set up by Letterkenny Mammy, Stevie Kleine. She brought her beautiful sleepover service to my girls recently and what a fablis service it is.

 

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How beautiful!?

Stevie arrives at your home and creates a stunning sleepover set-up; Handmade teepees, personalised with the names of the kids who are staying, trays, fairy lights and goodie bags for each child.

Everything is thought about and then she returns the next day to take everything away again.

The teepees are beautiful. Cath Kitsonesque patchwork with beautiful material and detailed stitching. They come with mattresses, pillows, sheets and little cushions. The teepees are joined with pretty bunting and fairy lights and each teepee has a little chalk board with names on.

Stevie has thought of everything. Trays, lanterns, LED candles, bottles and straws for their drinks, little colouring books with stickers and pencils, sweeties, a face cloth, a toothbrush and gorgeous eye masks. She even includes little boxes of cereal with a pink spoon tied to them for next morning.

 

 

 

On a serious note, the admin of The Sleepover Club is so professional. She arrives with a detailed legal contract for the hirer to read and sign. And her Child Safety guidelines and social media permissions are thorough and up to date. It’s clear where both parties stand before Stevie leaves the home. And obviously, it is up to the Hirer to inform the company about special requirements and to return the equipment in perfect condition.

 

 

Is it worth it? Well it’s not free obviously, but the magic that your little ones will experience is hard to explain. The Teepees are exquisite and there is a lot of work put into making your experience as perfect as it can be.ย  However, she can’t guarantee that the kids will sleep, but she can guarantee that they’ll feel like the most special princesses in the world.

My two LOVED the whole experience. Princess is still very little but she was beyond excited when they discovered the teepees set up. She’s been looking for them since Stevie collected them!

 

 

 

For a group of kids, aged 5 or 6 and up, this is a special and memorable way to celebrate a birthday, or even create memories. I would have had her cousins down for the night but it didn’t suit them, but it’s definitely a service I shall be using in the future.

Mini-Me and Princess had an evening of magic and memories. I’ll never forget their wee faces when they saw them set up… and THESE smiles the next morning are real.

 

 

You can get information on The Sleepover Club their Facebook page. They are also on Instagram and their email isย thesleepoverclubdonegal@gmail.com

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My girls enjoyed this experience as a treat from The Sleepover Club, but as always, my reviews are honest and I am under no obligation to promote the service.ย 

I am Secrets of Victoria Mum

Once upon a time there was a hypothetical Mammy.

This Mammy was hitting the grand age of 40 and for the 25 odd years that the hypothetical Mammy had been wearing an over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder, Mammy had been pretty sure that she knew what size her boulders were.
Or indeed pebbles, for THIS particular hypothetical Mammy was blessed with fried eggs.

At the grand old age of 19, when she accepted that her boobage was never going to explode beyond the boundaries of an A cup, she conceded that she would be flat forever. She began to look towards Superbabes like Cameron of the Diaz and decided that if SHE could be flatly fablis, then so could hypothetical Mammy.

And so, for her adult life, Mammy had never been too bothered about the smallness of the boobage. In fact, the arrival of the bald heads in her brassiere during her pregnancies, were not welcome after a few days. And thankfully, they reduced eventually back to a modest B cup.

Well, as far as Mammy knew, a B cup.

Mammy had never bothered to get her bra measured. No. That was surely only for the larger busted babe; the ladies who must be properly supported and comfortable all day. Considering that Mammy could easily NOT wear a bra and (apart from nipples, there’d be nothing busting from the bust area), Mammy can be forgiven for having assumed herself not requiring the assistance of the perfectly preened ones in department stores.

Recently however, Mammy has found the comfort of the bras becoming less and less. Great excitement occurred last year when Mammy discovered the joy of Victoria’s secret… and the wonder that is her seamfree, soft and perfect material. Why had Victoria hidden this secret from her for so long? wondered hypothetical Mammy. Why?

And so picking up her usual 32B in two colours, Mammy went through life happy and content in the battle of the bulges. Tiny as they might be.

AND THEN… Mammy went back to VS on a recent trip to London, in order to purchase 2 more of the magical Mammary holders. But Mammy could not find the style she wanted in her size.

“Can I help with sizes my Dahling?” asks orange lady.

“Erm well I am looking for this in a 32B please.”

Orange lady looks at Mammy’s chest area. “Is it a gift my Dahling?”

“No it’s for myself.”

“What size did you say?”

“A 32B please.”

“When were you last measured my Dahling?”

“Erm… well I’ve never actually…”

“Oh dear. Come with me.” Orangina announces, before spinning on her 17 inch stilettos and marching towards luminous pink lights which would not have looked out of place in a red light establishment or indeed, in Grease.

Fuck fuck fuckitty fuck thinks (hypothetical) Mammy to herself as she scuttles after Orangina.

“Naow ma Dahling. My name is Victoria and if you just pop in here and pop your top off, we’ll have a little look at what you’re wearing.”

That’s a lot of popping. And Mammy is not quite sure she believes that her name is Victoria.

Mammy steps into the cubicle which makes her age 18 years, deepens my laughter lines and makes Mammy look like ultimate shite. Mammy wants to run for the hills.

But no. Mammy is a grown woman. I have given birth TWICE thinks Mammy. I can surely do THIS. Mammy wonders why she has never done THIS before in her 37ish years. And deep down Mammy knows that it is because she was afraid that the bra measuring one would tell her she was not a 32B, or indeed a 34A, but that actually she was in fact a 69 MINUS AAA, or indeed, a boy.

“Are you decent Dahling?” comes the knock.

“As decent as one can be in headlights in her gray, washed eleventy billion times bra.” answers Mammy. Mammy foolishly thinks that humour will work.

“Well that is faaah too small on you my Dear.”

“Really? This is my good one!” answers Mammy

“Oh no Luvey. You are a 32 D I’d guess.”

“Fuck OFF!” snaughles Mammy, much to the amusement of Orangina.

“Ireeeeeene? Ireeeeene, come and tell me what size you think this laydeeee is?”

Another oragne lady with luminous teeth peeks her bourbon head around the door.
“32D Dahling…” and she’s off, poof! Like a Fairy Boobmother.

Victoria whips out a pink measuring tape and whisks her hands around me in 3 seconds.
“Yup. 32D my Luv. I’ll go get you some of these to try on?”

And she’s off, leaving Mammy in a fog. Mammy feels like everything she has ever known in life has just come crashing down around her. Mammy must begin to question everything that she knew to be true in the world. Mammy wonders is she is dreaming.

Victoria arrives back with 3 of Mammy’s chosen brassieres in the size that apparently Mammy should have been wearing all along…

And loe and beholder, the boulders fit. And they no longer look pebblish. They no longer look like two puppies squished in. They are no longer duck eggs in a chicken egg cup. No. These Bad boys are there and they suddenly FIT Mammy!

Mammy texts Daddy. In Victoria Secret. Spent too much, but got a boob job while I was in.

Daddy texts Mammy. WTF are you drinking now?

Nothing yet, thinks Mammy. But I’m heading to find Mr Bubbles to celebrate FINALLY hitting Booberty.

I am Solo Traveller Mum

Don’t you just love hairyports?

Places of excitement, of anticipation, of promise. A place where, if you are sans Minions, even the THOUGHT of the airport instills notions of SATC-esque soloness and general peace..
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Mammy shall find a quiet corner, order a large sauvignon and people-watch until it’s time to board. Mammy shall look altogether calm and fablis, just as if she does this “All the time Darling”. Mammy shall be soooooooo relaxed…

But no matter how much you like the hairyports and are excited by them, travelling solo is always the same.

And right now, as the snap suggests, Mammy is indeed sitting in a corner, Sipping sauvignon and looking quite appropriately bored and nonchalant…

Reality however?

Mammy queued in the impossibly long queue, cursing herself for not having paid for fast track and listening to Greg from Newry giving out STINK about having to queue. Ridiculous apparently. Perhaps, Mammy wonders, the Newrywegians have been keeping a new and improved system as a secret, all to themselves…

Mammy obviously, as feckin always, Beeped in security and was given onesided foreplay by the woman who seemed confused by the concept of an underwired over-the-shoulder-pepple-holder. She should try one but Mammy was certain that suggestion of such might end with Mammy being arrested.

Mammy then did what EVERY solo traveller does on arrival into the shiny brightness of the Dutyfulfree. She avoided eye contact with the shiny bright sales staff, found the Chanel section and spryed herself liberally with Coco Mademoiselle before scampering before anyone could challenge her liberal spraying or make her give it back…

Then Mammy wandered through the various bars and food venues, trying to look like she knew where she was going, whilst simultaneously trying to gauge which would be best suited to Mammy’s trying to fit in but wanting Poole to leave her the feck alone mood. Add to this Mammy trying to figure which of said watering establishments might serve wine of the non-pish variety without charging 16quid a glass… and suddenly Mammy’s head becomes quite fuzzy.

Mammy eventually chose a fairly classy looking joint, approaches the bar and awaits the teenager to notice that I am awaiting.
“A large glass of sauvignon please” Mammy says and is secretly pleased when said teenager opens a new bottle to pour. “What part of Donegal are you from Lovely?” Asks a 154 year old beside me. “Erm…” (Don’t talk to strangers!) “Let me guess. Letterkenny?” (Fuck.) “Yes that’s right. Well done you! K gebye!!” (Wtf is my wine?)

Mammy gets wine and calmly and cooly tries to find a seat AWAY from 154 year old stalker type. Sees 134 year old man Sipping red grapes and reading a battered copy of “The DaVinci Vode”. Figures he’s been here since 2005 so is safe enough to perch beside. Mammy is correct. 134 year old barely flinches.

Mammy is now safe to sip and watch and DESPITE promising to never be THAT woman who sits tappety-tapping her phone in the airport, Mammy also realises that this is a good chance to write my Lovelies a wee chuckle. ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜—

And now Mammy has precisely 14 minutes to board her flight and approximately 6 minutes to eat something to ensure that the large glass of sauvignon does not render Mammy incapable of actually getting into London.

Mammy may now also berate herself for choosing THIS particular trip to London to fly into the one fecking airport she has NEVER used before!

Tit.

#smartmammy
#notAsCalmAsILook

I am State Examinations Mum

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Exam season is upon us again.

It seems to come around faster and faster each year, doesn’t it?

If your little darlings are about to do their Junior or Leaving Certificate Examinations, here are some ideas on how you can help them.

  1. Sleep: Seems obvious and it’s easier said than done to get teenagers to go to bed at the best of times, and yet sleep is the one thing that we need in order to function properly. Talk to your child and agree a consistent bedtime for the next 3 weeks. Agree on a cut off time for studying, no matter how much they insist that they need to do more. Agree on a cut off time for screens and insist that until the exams are over, screens should not be in bedrooms. Even the simple absence of the phone from the bedroom can do wonders for the sleep that we get.
  2. Hydrate: Yeah yeah Yadda yadda… but again, vital. Challenge them to drink 2 litres a day. There are loads of cool bottles that help to motivate water intake now. And they all have apps on phones that can help remind them to drink water too. Dehydration leads to headaches and sluggishness; all of the things that they DON’T need at the minute.
  3. Nutrition: The State Exams can last for up to 2 weeks for some students. If an athlete were going into a 2 week event, they’d be fuelling up their bodies in preparation for months. If your child has a balanced and varied diet already, great. Keep it up. If not, try to introduce more whole foods and more fruit and veg. Convenience snacking is a massive issue when stress and tiredness kick in. Try to have dinners pre-cooked and healthier snacks in the fridge for when they appear from their pit “staaaaaarving”. In fairness to them, the last thing they are thinking about is their food right now. But don’t make a big deal about it. Remember when they were toddlers and you conveniently had lots of healthy snacks and precooked meals in the kitchen? For the next 3 weeks, go back to that! Just maybe ease up on the purees! (AND BREAKFAST is a must. They might not be hungry, but they can’t sit a 2-3 hour exam on an empty tummy. Bananas are great for calming butterflies in the tummy.) exam4
  4. Exercise: If your child has a hobby, or goes to a class each week, let them continue with it. As a teacher, I hear parents saying “Oh they’ve stopped that until after the exams”. And while yes, many need to cut back on some activities in order to study, cutting out EVERYTHING is a bad idea. Try to encourage them to do something every day, even if it is simply going for a ten minute walk. Send them to the shop. Throw them a basketball. Dust off the punchbag in the garage. Anything to get them moving for even a few minutes. Times of high stress are the times when we NEED to be able to release, may it be dancing, kicking, running or a gym class. It helps keep energy levels up. exam
  5. Keep the stress levels down: And I’m not just talking about THEIRS. State Exams have a way of reducing Mums and Dads to tears. Yes, this is a big deal. Yes, the exams are important, but what is more important is that your child is alive and well and able to do the exams. Don’t dismiss the significance of these exams, but equally, don’t paint them to be the be all and end all. Their best is all that they can do and regardless of what is in the little brown envelopes at the end of the summer, life will go on and they will be ABSOLUTELY FINE!
  6. Positivity: Rather than constantly “annoying” or “torturing” them, let them hear praise. (Because no matter what we say, they only hear nagging don’t they?) Let them hear you believe in them. Let them hear “You will be fine” or “Do your best” or “I’m proud of you.” Seems silly maybe, but trust me, so many of our teenagers are so skilled at feeling useless and crap all by themselves. Sometimes all it takes is for them to hear someone tell them they can do it. exam1
  7. Last minute pages: SO this is the teacher talking now. Get them to take an A4 page and for each subject, on which they write down all of the key phrases and ideas and names and keywords, dates etc., all over it, on both sides. If their teacher has things that he or she CONSTANTLY repeated in class, write those down too. Use different colour pens and make it bright. Laminate it when they’re done if you like. But have it that THAT PAGE is the ONLY thing they look at on the morning of the exam. I also advise that when they walk into the English paper, before they even read the questions, to jot down as many of the important terms and titles on one of the roughwork boxes or blank pages. That way, they have a go-to wordbank if they get a blank brain AND they won’t forget character names or poem titles in the heat of the exam. (Happens to the best!)
  8. Ditch the Drama: Warn your kids of the dangers of the Drama Llama on the morning (or afternoon) of the exam. While they’ll want with their friends, so often it is the worst place they can be. Hearing “Oh I only glanced at Chapter 23 last night” or “I haven’t LOOKED at that book!” or “I am so screwed”can cause panic in an anxious child’s mind. They’re already dealing with their own anxiety and nerves. They don’t need JohnJoe or Nancy’s stresses on top of their own. Tell them to politely stay away from groups until after the exam. They are much better served by reading over their last-minute page on their own. They can chat about it as much as they want when it’s over, but being focused and quiet before the exam really does work wonders. exam3
  9. SPACE it out: If space allows, tell them to skip 2-3 lines between each paragraph. This allows them space to jot down anything that might come to mind as the revise over what they’ve written at the end. (And it makes life easier for the examiner if sentences aren’t written sideways up a margin!)
  10. Believe: While the state exams are possibly THE biggest thing in your whole family’s life right now, it is important to remind the kids that every single person who is older than them, has been through and sat through these exams. They can only do their best. Yes, they’re a huge deal, but they’re also just a bump in the road that you have to drive over to get to summer. They’re well ready and well able.

I hope that exam season passes with as little stress as possible in your house. And remember that if your kids see you stressed, they stress. So even if you want to scream and tear your hair out, don’t. Or at least wait until they’re in bed and then pour yourself a gin and scream in a pillow.

And the very best of luck to your minions.

I am Simple Steps to Dressing a Twoublemaker Mum

How to dress a Twoublemaker.

  1. ย Lay out neatly ironed and folded clothing choice.
  2. Place garments onto child in correct order.ย  Lift thrown and crumpled garments off floor in random order, as thrown.
  3. Make sure to make “Pop” sounds or other sing-songy nonsense to mark the “Popping” of child’s head through vest/tee/jumper.
  4. Forget to open buttons to loosen head hole on said garment.
  5. Spend 3 minutes apologising for being a Silly Mammy while rocking frantically.
  6. Put child’s socks on their two feet.
  7. Put on trousers.
  8. Remove trousers. You forgot that the trousers have to go on first this morning. Silly wench.
  9. Remove child’s socks.
  10. Put on trousers.
  11. Put on child’s socks.
  12. Let child remove socks.
  13. Lose the will to live as child now tries to put on the socks again on the opposite feet.
  14. Put on child’s shoes.
  15. Note: Do NOT ask child if they want to put their shoes on beforehand. It will not end well.
  16. Put on child’s shoes.ย  Don’t bother fastening until you hear the compulsory “AOOOOOW!”
  17. Remove shoe and shake out imaginary stone from shoe.
  18. Put shoe back on just as it was 2 minutes ago.
  19. Repeat on other foot.
  20. Try to brush child’s hair into some sort of “I do not neglect my children I actually rather love the little shits” hairstyle. Use too much conditioning spray and threaten to shave it off. (Under your breath of course.)
  21. Put child down in order to get yourself ready.
  22. 3.5 minutes later, return to room fully dressed and ready to leave.
  23. Put on child’s trousers.
  24. Look for child’s left socks.
  25. Give up and grab another pair from drawer.
  26. Repeat steps 14 – 19.
  27. Remind self to buy gin.
  28. Consider googling “IV for Gin” if you ever get to work.
  29. Change child’s nappy…
  30. Get child into car, pretend you’ve forgotten something and silent scream in your kitchen for 15 seconds before returning alรก fucking Mary-of-the-poppins to car to deposit Twoublemaker to playschool…
  31. Repeat steps 14 to 19 outside door of playschool…
  32. Repeat steps 1 – 31 EVERY FUCKING DAY for next 2 years.

Then begins the How to dress a Pre-Tween… but that is a whole other post.

Happy Freezer Friyay Bitchepoos.

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Enjoy those Beige dinners! (Almost Grapejuice o’clock…)

I am Some Fried Eggs Mum

Today, we escaped as ChickenpockGate has finally ended and we are freeeeeee from the jaws of the sespit that is our home. While I should indeed be deep cleansing and femegating said sespit, I decided that getting OTF was much more important. (Out tay fook!)
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And so off we pocked… sorry popped… to Derry.
Mammy hasn’t been in Derry for quite a while and it took me a few minutes to get used to all of the shininess and prettiness of all of the funky and new and in style stuff that was hanging in front of me screaming “You know you want me Mammy!”
And of course I want one of everything,like yesterday… and yet I know I must go through my summer stuff from previous years first, where I will find 17 perfectly appropriate and fine bikinis and kaftans and all sorts of other summery stuff that I shall bring with, but not wear!
ย 
While browsing through the multicoloured rainbow of the swimwear section in a certain debartmenthams store, Mini-Me picked up one particularly frilly and colourful bra top. It was a 38F and while it was stunning if that is your bra size, for Fried Egg Sally here, it wasn’t suitable.
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“Isn’t this lovely Mammy? You should try it on!” announced Mini-Me.
“It IS lovely Darling, but that isn’t Mammy’s size. That is for a lady with bigger Boobies than Mammy. Every woman has different sized Boobs you see.”
“Ah OK.” she said, replacing the over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder which was made for some other Goddess.
I continued looking for the more pebble-esque holders and was happily emagining myself lounging by the pool in one of the very sexy, but subtle one-pieces, when I heard it.
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“Hi MAMMY?”
Where the feck is she?
I turn around and look frantically for her. She’s standing abut 15 yards away beside the mannequins which are covered in the Ted of the Baker stuff that Mammy hints at EVERY fucking Christmas and yet never gets. She’s pulling the front of the silky material down over the plastic diddy of the greeny brown headless one.
“What are you doi…”
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“Yours are more the size of THIS woman here aren’t they Mammy?”
ย 
Shoot.
me.
NOW.
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Enter a caption

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“Get over here Madam.” I hiss, as the 324 bystanders turn to look at me. (Ok, there might have only been 7 or 8, but it felt like many more.)
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“But yours don’t look like that” she continued, having a good look at the perky perfectness of the plastic one.
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“Come on until we find Daddy” I muttered as I gathered up my bags and my dignity from the floor. I walked over to her and took her hand off the prettiness on the mannequin.
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“Let’s go you rascal” I grumbled, but a part of me couldn’t help but think ‘Why thank you Darling!’ at being compared to the boobage on the model. Even the mannequin was probably laughing at the fact that my fried eggs are still only a fraction of the boobahs on her!
ย 
How was your day?

I am Saying Thank You Mum

From a different Perspective…

Thank you to the people who planted Thousands of little white crosses along the main road to letterkenny. ๐Ÿ’œ๐Ÿ’™

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Photo by Greg Harkin on Twitterย 

How gracious of you to remember all of the little babies who our people never got to bury in Irish Soil.๐Ÿ’œ๐Ÿ‡ฎ๐Ÿ‡ช

Thank you for marking the lives of all the women who have, and who will, die as a result of the 8th. ๐Ÿ˜”

Thank you for memoralising Savita.๐Ÿ’œ

Thank you for marking the men who have lost and who grieve for their lost children, partners, Mummies, Sisters.๐Ÿ’™

Thank you for allowing me to explain to my daughter that the little crosses are for all of the innocent little babies who fate would not allow to be born. ๐Ÿ‘จโ€๐Ÿ‘ฉโ€๐Ÿ‘งโ€๐Ÿ‘ง

You didn’t realise the POSITIVE effect your actions in the dark of night would have did you?

Look at you ๐Ÿ’œshowing compassion and empathy and kindness.

Look at you ๐Ÿ’™considering the emotions if pregnant women as they drive their children to school this morning.

Look at you๐Ÿ’œ considering the feelings of the grieving as they go about their business this morning.

Look at you.๐Ÿ’œ๐Ÿ‡ฎ๐Ÿ‡ช๐Ÿ’œ
You are kind.
You are caring.
You are empathetic.

Thank you for your efforts.๐Ÿ‡ฎ๐Ÿ‡ช
I hope you didn’t have to make this journey alone.
I hope it wasnt lonely there in the black dark of night.
I hope no one would suggest that you are a criminal for doing what you feel to be necessary and essential for you. ๐Ÿ’

Have a wonderful Friday you lovely humans.

Perspective is the key to life ladybelles x

#repealthe8th #seewhatyouwanttosee
#oneweektogo #choice
#togetherforaye

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I am Sort Out the Foofaas Mum

One must shave one’s legs. Not just to the knee. The WHOLE way up…

One must sort out foofaa. Not just front foofaa. ALL the Foofaa.

One must wear appropriate knickers. Comfy, not slutty.ย  Pretty but not Bridget…

One might even vajazzle. Is that still a thing? Was it EVER a thing?

One must paint toenails. When did one last paint toenails? 1998 by the look of them…

One should seriously consider a quick fake tan… must transform one’s corned beef trunks into radiant stalks of shimmering silkiness while singing “AAAA’m yo Venus, Aaaa’m yo fiya…Yo desiya!”

legs

*Not mine

Why?

Has one a hot date?ย  Is Him whisking one offย  for a night of sizzling passionista and frolicking? Is The Him in luck? Has one been overexcited by the little splash of sunshine we’ve been treated to this week? Has one lost her fecking mind?

No. But one does have an appointment with one’s Nurse for a lovely Smear test and so OBVIOUSLY one must be ready no?

No?

Why? Do you mean to tell me that one’s Nurse is NOT going to judge the stubble on one’s legs or the length of the foofaa carpet or the dotted grayness of one’s cellulitically fablis thighs?

Is there NOT a section on her paper work, underneath “Try not to fuck it up this time you shower of useless incompetent Gobshites”, that she must tick to state the state of one’s state on a scale of “Meh to WTF?”

Does she not have daily moments of “What a fablis Foofaa specimin this one is!” to write into her diary and to tell her Nursey friends about at the Nurses’ Conventions over Pimms?

You MEAN that one’s Nurse doesn’t give a continental FUCK about the state or shape of a Lady’s Ladybits when one presents oneself for the 30 second swab?ย  That she only thinks “Another one done thanks be to Christ. I hope there’s a caramel digestive in the staffroom at breaktime. Did I switch off the iron? Christ I need a pee…” and such?

You mean she’s not thinking “Oh Jeeeeeeeeeeeesus love go buy a razor. THIS is an unusual one… Christ it’s like an alien. Is it ALIVE?ย  Must change tonight’s dinner choice…”

NO.

Because guess what? Your Nurse doesn’t give a SHITE about the state of your netherregions.ย  She only cares about getting you in the door to make sure that in light of the recent ABOMINATION that is the Smear Scandal, that you are as safe as possible.

So if you’re putting it off, suck it up and get it booked.

It’s not the worst thing in the world is it?

smearme