Thursday…..TFIF…nearly

Rows: nil…can’t be bothered…
Coffee: None, zilch, nadda
Wine: Lemsip and Rose cocktails.
Voice Decibels: 20 (a husky whisper)
Genius Levels: Patient post ECT

Are we nearly there yet? Can I make it all the way to the weekend? I am not so sure. Losing it this morning at 0730 was a sure way to define that my tolerance is reaching an end.

I was simultaneously trying to work out with Personal Trainer – whilst dictating a shopping list to Husband, whilst children are asking me for lunch money and wondering where their PE kits is plus work is on the phone with an urgent problem. Don’t ask me why my Husband isn’t able to spot what we need from Waitrose – he and das kinder still seem to think a flipping fairy fills the fridge. Anyway I am working out – being interrupted every 2 minutes – simultaneously trying to be Super Mum, Wifelet, lithe MILF and Captain-ess of Industry when I simply can’t take it anymore. Then they all looked surprised when I explode like an egg in a microwave – everyone getting splattered by a boiling fragment. I send PT on his way, told kids to bloody well find their own gym kits, instructed Husband he was as able as me to see if we had bread, milk and food and told work to use their bloody initiative.

I guess I am less than tolerant today because I have a cold. A cold would be okay if a) I could stop, b) someone else could take care of my Things To Do List and c) it was sufficiently mild so I could catch up with some home stuff if I actually conceded to taking a day off. Typical MD – using a sick day to catch up on the cleaning. Mind you, as I decried Husbands suffering for the last week with taunts of ‘Manflu, is it?’, with about as much sympathy as Margaret Thatcher had for the miners, I should not be surprised that he is now positively gleaming with smug satisfaction as I continuously blow my nose. And I have always made such a fuss over sick days at work the Employees are fit for an Intensive Care Unit before they take a day off so on principle we all crawl in to The Office regardless of whether we have the plague or not. Madness.

Anyhow I veered strongly off my W rule (for the second time this week….bad MD…must do better) and decided to commiserate over a glass of wine and Grazia. I may be MD but I like a bit of trivia as much as the next girl. 2 hours later I have drunk the whole bottle and ordered my new summer wardrobe online. Small problem, in waking up this morning is that, in the optimistic glow of my Lemsip and Rose fuelled benevolence, I may have ordered a wardrobe that means, this season, I will mostly look like Peaches Geldof. Really a woman of my age should give up pretensions of trying to look like Kate Moss at a festival and concede that M and S knows best. At least Daughter will receive ample bounty!