Thursday, 24 September 2009

I'm writing this instead of packing...

...because I'm in denial frankly. I'm now off work until Monday when we move.

So I have three days to pack - that should be enough right?

I have promised myself I will not spend two days fannying around thereby ensuring I have to stay up until 3am on Monday morning, getting progressively more hysterical while throwing random crap in boxes.

However, I am a master procrastinator. A putter-offer. I'm a last-minute, deadline-driven, seat-of-my-pants kinda gal. So yeah - if you're awake at 3am Monday morning - think of me.

(Of course it doesn't help that the removal company have forgotten to deliver me any boxes today, so it's not completely my fault if I don't get up at the crack of dawn tomorrow and get to it.)

Are you bored yet? I am. I wish I could come up with amusing anecdotes about my moving travails but there really aren't any. So sorry. Although it has just occurred to me that I should probably hide any sex toys before the removal men arrive. That would be the last straw - removal men chortling on Monday morning when I've only had 4 hours sleep.

On a lighter note my husband sent me a picture text of the sign outside a coffee shop which said 'Hobbits drink free.' This is in reference to my observation that the older I get, the more body hair I seem to grow, particularly on hands and feet. He thinks the upside might be the free coffee.

Is this true for everyone? Are you growing hair where you never did before?

And just how far from your groin does a pubic hair have to grow before you're completely weirded out? (I'm thinking more than an inch.)

Although I'd take the extra hair as long as the spots stay away. I seem to have got over my outbreak stage. I still get the odd one or two but they are nothing compared to the multiple, cyst-like, mega-spots I was getting a few months ago. I guess my ovaries are getting ready to throw in the towel.

Although there's just enough endocrinal activity going on to give me a completely inappropriate interest in the masculine form. In other words I am still ogling men in a way I've NEVER done in my life before. And I'm sorry to say I'm ogling completely inappropriate men too. Men who are... let's just say - MUCH TOO YOUNG!

So there you have it. I'm a middle-aged, stressed-out, mildly spotty, hairy individual with an unhealthy obsession for the opposite sex.

And I'm moving. Did I mention that?

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