Thursday, August 19, 2004

I passed the interview! My new cleaner has offered me 3 hours a week! Yippee!! Somersault! I could almost be mistaken for Chinese gymnast if anyone up at the park saw me on the Monkey bars! I think it was the leopard-skin scrubbing brush and the promise of matching dustpan, brush and rubber gloves that swung it!

Mum wasn't so lucky. She can't fit her in just yet. I told her she needed to dejunk - starting with the StepMonster! I have graciously offered to share Yvonne once she has got me thoroughly bottomed (technical term) something I have struggled with most of my adult life.

I wasn't expecting to hear from Cute Suit today. He was playing with his friends. I imagine it very much as a scene from that Nigel Havers series - 4 successful men of a certain age on an away day, golfing, comparing swings, secretly checking out each others greying and white bits, openly mocking my cutey, far and away the most handsome and likeable of the lot, with his apparently adolescent ability to text but actually wondering who is responsible for the glint in his eye and the spring in his step - at least I hope he has one - I feel like I'm walking on air.

Jack delighted me today by completing both tasks that I had set him, or rather the Jack-shaped heap of bedding that grunted back at me as I left for work this morning. All the washing up was done, the food containers were in the bin rather than strewn across the kitchen, and he'd even picked all his dirty clothes off his bedroom floor and put them in the wash basket - and I didn't even have to leave a trail of fivers to help him find it!

He did point out that as he had spent the evening watching the footie rather than online, I should consider it phone credit I was using up - not much use to me when the only guy I want to talk to on the phone is conkering with his mates - but I appreciated the sentiment.

Eva, or should I say, Mrs Roger, is back from her honeymoon tomorrow. I expect to get a call on Friday while he's working to tell me all about it. She might remember to ask me how my car is after an hour or so - the shame of having to admit to driving a Micra, albeit on hire, it was bad enough suffering the laughs and taunts from the boys at rugby tonight - and Jack didn't even tell them to go pick on someone their own size! What's the point of having a tall broad son if he isn't going to stand up for you in the playground?


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