Help help. Hope is chewing my foot off.

It has been a long, oh, such a long day. Insofar as the following events insisted on occuring:

  • Item: the post-BFN pub on Sunday was filled to the gunwhales, should a pub have gunwhales, and I do think it should, because I love words that aren’t pronounced how they are spelt and I once had a kitten called Featherstonehaugh (Fanshaw) – where was I? Oh, yes, the pub was stuffed with mothers. And babies. And toddlers. And six-year-olds who were getting very bored of sitting in a pub while the grown-ups drank rather a lot of red wine and got ever more boring and silly and un-inclined to go to the play-ground. Well, yes, it was Mothering Sunday, and H and I took leave of our collective senses and tried to get lunch in the one pub in the area that does excellent lunches. The lunch was excellent in parts, when we finally got it, because the pub staff were going into melt-down as they had never, positively never, been so busy before. Happy bloody Mothers’ Day to you too.
  • Item: By all rules of established play, I should have woken up this morning with the Four Pony-riders of the Apocalypse, Spot, Cramp, Sulk and Chocolate, dancing attendance on my belly. Nada. By lunch-time, Spot should have been chased away by his big brother Bleed Freely. Nada. It is well past nine pm. Nada nada nada. This appears to be a 12 day luteal phase. I’ve never had such a thing before in my life.
  • Item: Every single person in London appears to have groomed this morning by pouring the entire contents of their cologne or deodorant bottles over their heads. I thought, on the train, that I was going to expire in a cloud of Lynx and CKOne.
  • Item: While waiting for the bus, I smelt the most godawful vomitty smell. Truly nasty. To my horror, I traced it to the coffee-cup of the lady next to me. Coffee from a coffee-shop I normally patronise quite happily and think is rather good.
  • Item: I got my elevenses coffee from the Organic Coffee Stall From Heaven, whose barista is the absolute artist of pretty rippled foam on your cappuccino. It tasted very much like licking the verdigris off a penny found in the gutter. I was devastated. Everyone else at work assured me it smelled fine – one noble soul assured me it tasted fine. I couldn’t finish it.
  • Item, and this deserves a special item all of it’s own, I love coffee. Coffee is the fantabulous refreshing nectar of the neurotic little gods of nail-biting.
  • Item: Oh Christ, I was drinking alcohol this weekend.
  • Item: Other things that made me retch today: Cigarette smoke. The smell of cheese toasties. The body odour of one very irritating student. The very thought of egg mayonnaise. The smell of peanut-butter. Car exhaust. And as every single smell was exaggerated to the nth degree, my walk home back across town was very very fast, with me practically ricocheting from passer-by to passer-by in an attempt to run away from the damn’ smells.

Therefore, I am officially freaking the fuck out already.

Also, I am well aware that if I go to pee on a pee-stick tomorrow, I shall see blood on the paper when I wipe. I did not give up on the Holy Grail, I will be taunted a second time.


3 responses to “Help help. Hope is chewing my foot off.

  • Heather

    Our bodies sure do love to fuck with our minds, don’t they?!

  • geohde

    Hoping that hope turns out to be right. Wouldn’t that be nice?


  • katie

    My top tip: Pee in a bottle (surely the good Dr has given you some spare bottles to play with) or a cup, leave it discreetly on the bathroom windowsill while you finish your business/have your shower/use a spanking new white towel to dry yourself. Only at that point use said pee stick.

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