‘Just RELAAAAX’ They Say…

‘Make some time for YOU Mammy and have a relaxing bath’ say the instafluencers.

Well OK then!

An instaworthy bathing relaxation event is about to go down in Chez Mammy… buckle up Bitcheepoos.

I sniff in the steam as my very ‘spensive and much loved bubble bath, (made up of ingredients I cannot pronounce for lack of vowels… LangyLang and mystical howabajobawobahoohoo berries and Blossoms and such) fills my bathroom with sweet scented steam.

I need this.
I deserve this.
I shall read.
I shall RELAX and have some time ON MY OWN.

I have the suds.
I have the soaps.
I have the candles lit.
I have my book ready.
I have my musical soundtracks ready to play.
Most importantly, I have the wine poured.

I EVEN have a few nice big dirty fat creamy chocolates sitting on my the fancy board that sits across my bath, (which I decided that I NEEDED on night 309 of lockdown after a bath where I almost smashed my favourite wine glass into my thighs as it refused to balance on the side of the bath.)

I am going to sip on my Shiraz and listen to Idina Defy Gravity, while I hum along, calm and content and soaking my cares away.

I switch off the ‘big light’ and slide into the suds.

It’s too hot. Of course it is.

It will ALWAYS be too hot, for I am a muppet. I’ll never learn.
That’s a fact.

Deciding that the chances of ACTUAL burns are not quite as high as usual, I wait for my skin to stop screaming and close my eyes.

This shall be heaven.
I insist it shall.

I reach for my book…

I cannot see my book.

For you see, the romantic and subtle candlelight is SO subtle that I actually can’t SEE any of the words on the fucking page.

I call Himself.

“Will you turn on the big light please? I can’t see!”
He grumbles something rather dangerous and foolish about how he “told me so” and the light dazzles me.

Ok, so it’s not quite as relaxing, but at least I can see the words now. I balance the book in my soggy hands.

Within a few moments, the steam is causing my fingers to leave big damp splodges all over the pages.

It seems that the book is gaining weight. I’m sure it wasn’t this heavy 5 minutes ago.

It seems to have morphed into the entire collection of the Britannica Encyclopedia and I’m wondering HOW it now weighs 25Kg as my arms struggle to hold the fecking soggy pages above my head. This is so uncomfortable.

I put the book down, hit play on the phone and listen to the Wicked soundtrack.

As I pop a chocolate into my mouth, the WIFI cuts out (I’m more than a metre from the fucking kitchen. What did I expect?) so the music stops and starts so many times within a minute that I think I have whiplash.

I switch off Idina and throw another chocolate into my mouth…

Or AT my mouth, for, you see, I miss.

And the dirty big champagne truffle sinks like yer man Jack in Titanic and I think I cry louder and more genuinely than thon Rose bitch.

Such is the severity of my sense of loss. I fish the little fecker out, but not before it has started to melt, because yes, the water is still too hot.

I plop the sodden truffle onto the fancy board. It looks like a poo.

Then I call the Husband again to come down to open the window, because obviously I am still melting and my heart is working too hard in the boiling water and I fear that I may die.

“What now?”
“Can you open the window please?”
There are grumblings and mutterings as he opens the window. He eyes the tiny poo on the board and the suspicious trail of pooey clouds in the water and raises an eyebrow at me, before leaving me to my ‘pampering’…

I hear the words “Every fucking time…” as he stomps out to continue wrestling the two hellfiends into their beds.

‘This is SOOO relaxing’ I think as I listen to them announce to Daddy that actually, it is NOT bedtime and they are in fact NOT going to bed until Mammy reads a story…

The wine is lovely…just the right temperature. I allow the berry-red joyjuice to do that weird tingle it does to my muscles. It’s rather lovely.

I set it the glass back and close my eyes because the big light is by now fucking blinding me, and I try that ‘relaxing’ thing people talk about.
After approximately 2 minutes, I’m bored.

The door opens and I hear her before I see her.

She is settling her tiny self on the toilet and as she does so, she announces “you might want to cover your nose Mammy.”

Noooooooooo!

Well. You can imagine how the rest of this story goes…

Yeah.
Have a bath they said.
It’s so relaxing…

Lying bitches.

The Moon and Me…

I should have feckin known…


I’ve just managed to get the two hallion stallions to bed. They have been absolutely WIRED this evening. Not in a “cute and funny, had too much sugar in GannyGanda’s” way…More like in that “If you look in my direction I will hiss and snarl and shoot daggers from my pretty blue eyes that are so sharp they will sting your Bitch-head” way.

The dog is being a cantankerous shite too. He is refusing to come inside. He has turned his back on me 83 times today and didn’t even have the decency to look excited when I tried to play with him earlier. He is however too old and lazy to bother with anything other than a bored and lethargic eyebrow raise which translates into “Feck away off woman. Can’t you see, I’m not in the mood? Catch it yourself you twat.”

Me?Well I shan’t pretend to be Mary-of-the-fecking-Poppins.Nope. I’m like a coiled and rusted, extra sharp barbed wire. If you get too close or look at me in the wrong way, there is a chance that I’ll snap and you’ll need a jab of some sort, like a Tetnus injection, to counteract the utter venemous HORMENTAL that is cruising through my feckin veins.

My Bullshit Barometer is wonky at the best of times. Today, it’s shattered, Stay away.

So tonight after tucking my little darlings in, having made only 93 threats and swearing FMLs 39 times, I momentarily considered pouring a large Wodka. (Mammy doos not drink wodka…or vodka for that matter, nor does Mammy drink on Monday nights, unless it’s a VERY special occasion.)

I did not pour anything. Instead, I checked the moon for the craic, only to see that it is indeed a New Moon. I now feel much better, that it is NOT just me and that my children are NOT turning into actual demonic shebithces and my beloved dog does not in fact HATE me… it’s just a phase we’re all going through…

Himself?Yeah… he’s fine. He’s working. (or hiding possibly in the gym. I can’t say I blame him to be honest.)

Anyone else go full blow LUNAtic with the moon?Just me?

Sacking My Handbag: Service No Longer Required

Re: Postponement of Duties.

Dear M.Y. Handbag

As we enter Month 10 of the current situation, I must, with regret, postpone your duties indefinitely.

I acknowledge that until March 12th, 2020, you were undisputedly indispensable and quite frankly, my right hand woman.

You were with me all day every day, carried all of my belongings and accompanied me to all daily events and meetings.

I apologise now for the amount of extra work and unnecessary files I dumped in you, and in hindsight, know that I never properly appreciated you.

I also acknowledge that you were my PA, a wonderful one at that, and that I really could not have survived even one day of my pre-covid existence without you at my side.

You carried me; my schedule, my finances, my keys, my snacks… You were the glue that held my daily life together.

It is perhaps true that I took you for granted. I assumed that you would always be there for me. And I know that you would have been had this blasted virus not rendered your post unnecessary.

I never thanked you for your constant companionship and support.

It is with true sadness that I must shelve you for the foreseeable.

Until life returns to some semblance of normality and I have a reason to leave the house, I am afraid that your services are no longer required.

Please take care of yourself during this time. I look forward to reinstating your position in the near future. I promise to treat you with more respect and care, and I’ll try to lighten your load where possible.

I apologise for this pause in your contract. It is unavoidable. I only hope you can forgive me and that we can return to our previous relationship soon.

With regret and deep sadness,
Me.

Songs Offending My Darlings?

I am offended…

Given that everyone is now allowed and encouraged to be offended by absolutely everything, I’ve decided to crack down on the lyrics of other Christmas songs which, let’s be honest, are incredibly offensive to offendable people who like to be offended.

babyitscold

Last year’s uproar about the dreadfully offensive lyrics of Christmas classic croonfest “Baby It’s Cold Outside” is being spouted again by the EOTs  (Easily Offended Types).  It quite rightfully opened the door* for all sorts of uproar about every lyric ever written ever.

(*the door was not opened or held open by the song or for the song, but rather automatically so that basic manners might not be perceived as chauvinistic by the easily offended).

It’s only taken us 70 odd years to realise the utterly heinous and terrible connotations of dominance and kidnapping in the lyrics of this shocking song.  How were we so naive?

How could we ever have misconstrued the lyrics as a playful interaction between a man and woman, who, at the end of a date are toying with the idea of getting the leg over. How dare we see it as a coy, flirtatious exchange in which the man is trying to extend the cuddle time, and the woman, (who quite obviously wants to stay) is playing a little hard to get… by choice.  What were we THINKING?  I mean, he’s obviously an evil-demon -from-hell-Mantype.

There’s no way he’s just a man.  Or you know, that she’s just a woman, who (shock horror) doesn’t mind the idea of coitus, even though 1940s society would have frowned upon such frivolity.

babyitscoldoutside

Shit Lads, what were we thinking? (Sorry,I shouldn’t say lads. Ladies? No, that too is offensive as it has the word lad in it… )

I am indeed offended by the lyrics.  I shall ignore the fact that it’s one of my favourite Christmas songs and jump onto the offended bandwagon, just because it is cool to be offended by anything and everything.

I am also joining in with the campaign to change or bleep out the word “faggot” from the classic “Fairytale of New York”.  It offends me.

fairytale.png

Actually, so do the the words “Cheap and lousy” as they suggest that I am not willing to spend money.  I ‘m offended by the glorification of betting and gambling in the line “Came in eighteen to one” and the OBVIOUS ageism in “An old man said to me won’t see another one”.

I’m also offended by the suggestion that I “can’t face it all alone” or that “I could’ve been someone”.  Do NOT TELL ME I can’t be ANYTHING I WANT TO BE!  You are OFFENDING MY RIGHTS!

Can we also take out the word “arse” as, you know, offended… And while we’re at it, let us change the title.  Because we should NOT be telling our daughters that Fairytales are a thing.  That is making them grow up into the type of woman who gets trapped by the evil demon from hell mantype who wants to drink with her and doesn’t want her to catch cold… Irresponsible parenting is personified in the title.  I am offended.

Other Christmas songs that we shoud just ban while we’re at it, are:

frosty

Frosty the Snowman.  I am offended that this particular snowman is a man.  Also, the fact that he is “made of snow” offends me because it suggests that he is weak. He also tells us he’ll “be back again someday”.  This offends me as sometimes, people leave  This line therefore is giving our children a false sense of security.

“I saw Mammy kissing Santa Claus” must also go.  It reeks of adultery.  Where is poor Daddy? Mammy is conveyed as a slut here. She is EXACTLY what the woman in “Baby it’s cold outside” would have turned into, had we not saved her by being offended…

Rudolf the red nosed reindeer...WHY do we feel the need to differentiate between him and the others based on the colour of his nose? Borders on racism I tell you.  Offended.

rudolf

“Jingle Bells” obvious sexual connotations.  “All the way” is putting me under pressure.  One-horsed open sleigh is OBVIOUSLY animal cruelty.  Why aren’t there two horses? And to be politically correct, why is a horse doing the job of a reindeer? Discrimination or equinism gone too farf?  Offended.

“All I want for Christmas is you”  offends me.  It suggests that all women only want a man.  Are we not perfectly capable of being fully rounded, successful and whole beings ALONE? Offensive.

“Santa Baby”  promiscuous wench, bordering on prostitution. Slapper she is in her fluffy cuteness…Offensive.

WEB-SantaBaby.png

“Santa Claus is Coming to Town” – full of threats.  Obvious threats.  “You’d better watch out.  You’d better not cry.”  Obviously abusive language. Offensive.

“Driving Home for Christmas” offends me.  What if I don’t have a car? What if I’m a stay-at-home-parent or a work-from-homer who is ALREADY at home? Do you think I want to be listening to a song which puts pressure on me to drive somewhere, JUST so I can drive home again?

I’m dreamin of a White Christmas”  –  eh racist no?

“Live Aid”  –  Tonight thank God it’s them instead of you?  Well now THAT is just offensive.

Actually, can we move away from Christmas songs?  There are many other offensive tunes on our radios each day.

“Dontchya wish your girlfriend was hot like me” offends me.  What if Nicole Sherzimeister actually means it and is going to steal my Husband who might agree that she is indeed “hotter” than his plain old boring wife?   Offended.  (And genuine cause to hate the perfect one obviously.)

Bohemian Rhapsody?   –  Violence!  Offended by Mama pulling a trigger.  I’m pretty sure the word Fandango should offend me too…

Dance Monkey?  –  I am offended that you think my dancing makes me look like a primate.

Would you like me to go on?  I could you know?  I could find offense in fucking Nursery Rhymes if I felt like it.

But do you know the thing about being easily offended?

It means NOTHING!  NOBODY GETS HURT AND NOBODY ACTUALLY CARES IF YOU ARE OFFENDED.  You don’t get a rash.  You don’t get a badge.  You just get tired with all the energy it takes to be OFFENDED BY EVERYTHING ALL THE FECKING TIME!

Have I offended you?

Whatever.  You’ll survive.  Write a letter to Santa or The Grinch.  He can put you on his ever growing “offended” list.

It’s on the page after the Naughty List ends.

 

grinch

 

 

Some Things I’d change about Christmas…

grinchy

​If I were Queen of the whole world (as opposed to my own little corner), there are a few things I would change about Christmas…

  1.  Christmas jumpers should be permissable for wearing from December 1st.  To all occasions, without eye-brow raising, without judgement…unless you are judging how fucking FABLIS it is is comparison to your NOT Christmassy, everyday, boring Jumper.

2. Only competent drivers should be allowed on the road from the 11th until the 24th.  Because Christmas Eve is on a Monday, the last minute panic (and for some, ALL their shopping) will have to be done over one long weekend.  This would not be a huge problem if everyone knew how to DRIVE.  The town will inevitably stand still with non-moving cars and the special Dumbasses who the Grinch or some other Gremlin sends down from Dumbass Land, and who ONLY come out to drive on Christmas Eve and who test the patience of EVERYONE else by not using INDICATORS or knowing what a fucking YELLOW BOX is.  They are not even real people.  I think they’re like Matrix people who we can all SEE blocking the roundabout or taking 2 hours to reverse their Corsa into two spaces, diagonally, but they’re not ACTUALLY real… they can’t be.  That level of Dumbass doesn’t exist does it?


3. The shops should all close at 1pm on Christmas Eve.  Why? So that the creturs working in them get to GO HOME to their families of course! Be nice to retailers Ladybelles.  You might be stressed, but they’re still working. When I am queen, the whole world shall shut down early and Christmas shall be forced to begin at a decent hour.
4. Anyone who parks in a disabled spot or a parent spot without good reason or genuine need, should be zapped by a glitterfying lazer and beamed to a 1980s Tellybox set like in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, where they shall have to stay until Boxing Day, being continuously whipped by a mansized Bosco.  Better still, their CAR should be zapped away from them as they lock it so they can see just how fucking difficult it is to suddenly have an unnecessarily long distance to navigate a wheelchair or crutches or 3 screaming kids and 10 bags, just because they think they’re more special than the rest of the world.  Pricks. (Note…this applies all year round. 🤐)
5. Children and Hims should not be allowed to get sick before or during Christmas.  It’s hugely unfair on the Mamma Bears who are already trying to fit ALL THE EVERYTHING into their lunchbreaks and do the full grocery shopping in 8 minutes flat enroute to the school gate.  It is highly inconvenient and terribly upsetting when your minions suddenly feel poopy at this time.  Of course it could always be worse… especially if your Him decides to do his annual Nutcracker rendition and act out the part of the useless and slightly tragic wooden soldier who needs something fucking magical to instil life and joy into his bones again.  Of course I’m not referring to my own Him here.  😇He is a Braveheartesque soldier at all times😲😲 and never succumbs to manflu or calls for his Mammy when his Her tells him to “man the fuck up.”
6. Cars will have a secret “other” boot.  This will stop the drama of “How the feck will I get the stuff that isn’t really there and can never be seen by little eyes into the house before they decide to open the boot to throw their schoolbags in?” Such a debachle!
7. All Mammies will be allowed to drink tea or grapes or gin as early as they like from the 20th.  Sorry…the 19th 😂😂until at LEAST January 3rd.  This shall be law.

8.  Baby it’s Cold Outside and Fairy Tale of New York should be played on repeat in every shop from now until Christmas Eve, especially for all of the OFFENDED people who like to be OFFENDED so much that EVERYTHING OFFENDS them.  Yeah, that’s a whole other post…

Oh and everyone shall smile always, and wear big hats (which will ALL be made XL to fit humongously craniumed wenches like S-Mum) and we shall all be lovely to each other and sparkle like glittery unicorns because ’tis the fucking season and all that.
How was your day?

Are we there yet? 🎄🎅🦄🎄🍷🎅🎄🦄🍷🎅🎄❄⛄🎄🎅🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷