Deadly

I'm not, actually (menstruating), I don't. And NO it's not because I'm post-menopausal. It's because my Achilles heel is tucked away inside, what my granny called my lady-parts. But I'm not sure whether my hormones are up, or whether I'm just in a FUCKING bad mood.

Oooh, see, there's shouting, up there. Scary. Probably tears in a minute, if it's a hormonal thing.

My dear mother hasn't helped, by following through her heartfelt birthday sentiments with a couple of gifts that arrived while I was experiencing the delights of a UK mini-break en famille (say no more). I opened these with excitement, and without making bitter references to the fact that I didn't receive any birthday presents or cards from my husband or my children on my birthday. I did receive a decorated tissue box and a necklace that I already owned, wrapped in toilet paper as the girls had a last-minute panic at the dereliction of duty so great it was noticed even by them. And of course something chosen by a sales assistant at the airport. This is why I boughy myself a designer handbag, and shoes to match, in case you were wondering.

Anyway coming back to my bad mood today (as opposed to my birthday, and several other days in between...) The first parcel is a weighty tome called The Optimum Nutrition Bible. I haven't actually read much of it so I can't tell you whether the stories are better than the real Bible. However I noticed there is a whole chapter about broccoli so it's not promising. This will help me to take care of my health as I approach old age. The second parcel, much lighter, is something made of peachy-pink dip-dyed satin silk. Oooh, could be quite nice? Cream lace edges, what could it be? It's a satin nightie - size 22.

Fuck. Right. Off.