hen pecked

After being with a man for 7 years who left his finger nails on the couch arm to floss his teeth with you would think that ANY other man would be an improvement. 

Growing up, like any young girl, I fantasised about the house, the garden, the job, the dog, and the kids and of course the tall, dark and handsome man to keep me safe and content.  Wanting to take a spade to the back of his head somehow never featured in those warm and fuzzy fantasies – funny how things change. 

My previous relationship went through the usual ‘honeymoon’ period undoubtedly like everyone else’s, although being only 17, I didn’t think it would end before my 18^th birthday!  When our relationship inevitably ended after 10 years he sent me away with this worldly advice ‘Love is NOT like it is on the T.V’.  Now, between you and me I have seen enough ‘rom coms’ and read enough ‘chick lit’ to know that he was talking utter bollox (or so I naively thought).  I WOULD find my Prince Charming and he WILL love me for who I am, lumps and bumps and all and my life would be full of rainbows, singing birds and tranquillity.  Unfortunately after being with my new man and now husband for 5 years I’m inclined to agree with him.

Now don’t get me wrong, I am very much in love with this delicious dream boat of mine who has the most scrumptious bottom I have ever had the pleasure of squeezing but there are on occasions an extremely fine line between love and hate.  A very good friend of mine often says that relationships are a delicate balance on a knife edge – how right she is! 

In my previous relationship my ex was for want of a better word a slob and could often be found still in bed at 7.30am when he did in fact start work at 7.00am.  I felt more like his housekeeper than his fiancé and revelled when I washed a £20 note in his jeans because he was too bone-idle to check his pockets before leaving them strewn on the bedroom floor.  So when I was to embark in a new relationship I was determined NOT to be the maid and ooohh how the tables have turned.  I’m not here on bended knee, rosary beads in hand, confessing to being the world’s untidiest person but I will admit that since my yummy husband and I have settled into our delightful abode I have…shall we say…let standards slip.  So the house is a little dusty, so the washing basket is overflowing and the bath contains remnants of my last head-to-toe de-fuzz session…do I deserve to be yelled at?  Do I deserve his infamous DQ (Drama Queen) moments that cause an argument that denotes his silence for hours, the answer you are looking for here and I don’t mind helping you out is…NO.  However that does not stop him whining about the wet towels I leave over the bed or the mountain of shoes at the bottom of the stairs, it seems that HE is now the nagging wife I used to be and in the words of Marge Simpson “It’s aged me horribly”. OK help me out here…I’m running out of mental excuses…perhaps I do need a kick up the backside after all.

And so it does seems that love is not like it is on the telly or in books – it’s better!  It’s real. In my experience it involves commitment, passion, and effort and it makes you work bloody hard for its rewards.  Love is not about money or presents, flowers or chocolates, (though they help!!) it’s about sacrifice, compromise and lots and lots of patience.  The fact of the matter is this – Love is like a fart, if you have to force it, it’s probably shit! 

Hugs and kisses

Miss Piggy x

fake and bake

Oh my god.  I don’t believe it, the big day is here and as I look down at my hands I can only shake my head.  They’re bright orange.  I’m not talking a subtle fake tan glow here, they actually look like I’ve been kneading radioactive poo. Gutted. Lay in bed surrounded by a haze of lager farts and morning breath, I run through a mental itinerary for today.  First I’m seeing mum so I can model tonight’s outfit and get her stamp of approval, then on to my nans for a quick cup of tea and a catch up on the family gossip.  I love the way that despite being house-bound she still remains the font of all knowledge when it comes to everyone else’s business – Don Cole, Mafia Nan.  I fancy dinner at our favourite café, Chester’s, but I’m going to have to work my magic on the ‘Bank Manager’ for that.  Sometimes I regret giving total financial responsibility to my husband; he’s tighter than a squirrel with his nuts in winter!  But if the finances were left to me, we’d probably be homeless so I have to be grateful for small mercies.

Later as I sit at my boudoir inspired dressing table and look at its contents, there appears to be more of me on its surface than there is in the super suck-in knickers I’m wearing.  More fake tan, fake eyelashes, fake nails and what women wouldn’t be complete without her chicken fillets.  And so begins the transformation from Quasimodo to Esmeralda.

What is it with these nylon covered bungee elastic garments? They are modelled by wafer thin girls who don’t have an ounce of additional flesh and are wrapped in the promise of a smooth, svelte figure.  However, I feel that the over-priced and hideous apparels lead us girlie's into a false sense of security.  Why do we pay ridiculous amounts of money to look like a bag of spuds tied in the middle?  I mean think about it - where is all this extra pulp expected to go?   Wearing these torturous undergarments may provide a visual inch-loss but in my experience everything gets thrust in a downward trajectory and I end up having knees the size of watermelons – not a good look at 31.

What ever happened to Au Natural? Oooh yes, that’s right…AGE!  I know I’m not the oldest book on the shelf but it does have to be said that good old gravity is working its mysterious magic on more than one area of my boobly body.  In fact if I’m honest I have no recollection of when things started to go…south.   That’s life.  After donning the freshly painted electric blue nails (to match the dress, of course) I realise that I am going to have to some how attach the goddamn eyelashes without gorging my eyeballs out with the newly acquired talons.  It’s at times like these I seriously want to win the lottery so I can hire someone to stick the mothers on.  I mean take that advert with J-Lo shaving her legs with a Gillette razor.  Shave ‘her own’ legs! I don’t think so - I bet it’s been year’s since the women wiped her own arse let alone shave a leg…(clap, clap) ‘Wipers’…(Coming to America – Eddie Murphy)

After applying another layer of fake tan, on goes the slap.   Big and bold is the theme, and as the handbag I’m taking is the size of a credit card Id’ better put on extra thick layer.  All done up like a dogs dinner I turn to see where my significant other is up to and he’s looking as dapper as ever.  Kitted out in uber pointy shoes, shirt and pants that embrace his bottom in a mouth-watering way, he’s my pocket-sized George Clooney and so I lean in for a sneaky kiss.

Dress on, shoes on and a surrounded by an atomic mushroom of Issey Miyake my husband and I await the cab that will take us to his (football) presentation evening. The word WAG unfortunately springs to mind but I don’t think either of us fit the criteria; him playing for a ‘vets’ team and me looking like Dawn French and the only hob-nobbing we’ll be doing is dunking them in a brew when we get home.

Wish me luck…

Hugs and kisses

Miss Piggy x

there is a God!

As I wrestled with the hair dryer and straightener’s this morning I could hear the sound of huffing and puffing in the background. As I turned so see what all the fuss was about I saw my husband grappling with his newly bought trousers with the 32” waist and before you ask yes, there is a running theme in our house at the moment - WEIGHT GAIN!

I won’t make you blush with the expletives that were coming from his mouth (thankfully not in ear-shot of our daughter) but I couldn’t help but have a little smile to myself.  For too long now I have witnessed him shovelling pastries, pizzas and copious amounts of Merlot down his throat without so much as gaining a pound or two…(I won’t make you blush with MY expletives!) but looking at his Christmas pudding shaped belly it would appear that it’s caught up with him.   He was no different this morning from myself yesterday, the usual ‘Right that’s it – no more pastries, only one bottle of red a week and running and least 3 times a week’ were shouted at the top of his voice followed by ‘There is NO WAY I’m buying a 34” pair of pants’.  I dared not comment through fear of him remarking on my own weight gain so continued to style my hair with a very cheeky grin on my face.

Working in the same building as your husband does have its benefits; a sneaky cuddle when you’re feeling down, funds for lattes on ‘fudge cake Friday’ and days like today when he calls to say he’s popping to the local supermarket to buy something healthy for lunch.  Naturally when he returned and pulled out two, yes TWO pots of chocolate mousses followed by the excuse of ‘skipping breakfast’ I was not impressed and sat beside him salivating like a dog with a bone while he devoured them, clearly an amnesiac after this mornings drama queen performance.

I can’t say that I went out of my way today to avoid all things sweet ‘n’ sugary as I swilled down a Mocha with my morning toast but at the same time I haven’t been stood by the vending machine inserting my life savings so I’m calling that progress. 

I do have to confess that today has been a better day but I think this is due to the epiphany I had before dropping off.  As you know I was struggling to find the ‘perfect’ dress, the occasion – my husband’s sporting presentation evening this coming weekend and unsurprisingly I want to look best (or as good as I can given my size).  So as I lay there residing to the fact that time (and money) was running out I was going to have to settle for something from my wardrobe which for me is an absolute No-No!  I could never live with someone saying ‘Oh isn’t that the dress you wore for…’ and so one of my rules in life is ‘A new occasion ALWAYS needs a new outfit’ and why not as I work just as hard as the next women!  I digress… So as I was mentally flicking through my pre-worn items I suddenly pictured a dress; old, new, borrowed and blue just thrown over a hanger and classified in the ‘I’ll probably NEVER wear it but it’s just too nice to throw out’ category; old being that I have had it in my wardrobe for two years (at least), new as I acquired it BNWT’s and it was borrowed from a friend of a friend to which I never I returned… (Oh dear what was I saying about friends yesterday…) I presume I don’t need to explain the blue!  You wouldn’t believe the number of times I had tried that dress on and always settled for something else, it must in double figures now, and who do you contact with this fantastic news at some ungodly hour – your mother of course!  (Sorry mum).  After a couple of bleary eyed texts I slipped into a happy slumber and the world once again has been put to rights.

And so it seems my friends, with my husband’s deservedly weight gain and the dress quest complete…THERE IS A GOD!

Hugs and kisses

Miss Piggy x

the beginning of the end...?

Lay in bed last night, spooning my husband the tears rolled down my cheeks.  God it's a bloody nightmare trying to cry quietly!  After having a pretty crappy day I asked my Twitter legend of a husband to drop me off at home whilst he went on to collect our daughter from the after school club.  As I opened the door I saw the pink and white parcel card on the floor and a little flicker of excitement shuddered through me.  My freshly ordered dress, shoes and handbag had arrived and although they appeared to have been launched over the back garden gate I couldn't wait to rip open the boxes and bags.  As I lifted the black satin tea dress from the box my heart sank at the shear size of the waist band, the label read '20'.  My brain suddenly began screaming!  Totally ignoring these screams I stripped and slid the dress on, looked at the hideous sight before me and let out a huge sigh.  This is the fourth dress I've ordered and the fourth dress I will be sending back!

When I woke up this morning I went through the same mental routine; right that's it I'm starting my diet today, no bread for breakfast, no chocolate today and I am definitely going to do some sort of exercise when I get home.  Sod's law I had another crappy day and as the hours ticked by my enthusiasm for all things healthy was weaning.  In recognition of my terrible day a colleague brought me some form home-cooked cake which appeared to be Shredded Wheat cover in chocolate...not content with just eating one, three cakes later I was wallowing in self pity.  So as the clock struck 4.30pm I was on the phone to my mincing mate and we arranged to go...dare I say it...JOGGING!!!!

Donned in Lycra and lime green trainers I was waiting with baited breath for his arrival.  The more time that went past the more I had visions of being taken to A & E with severe burns to the crotch due to heat generation from ones thighs rubbing together and two burst lungs!  I gave him a sneaky text insisting we walked first to build up my stamina and he dropped me like the 15st, 5ft imp I am implying that if I wasn't prepared to 'get my heart rate up' then there was no point!  Well who needs enemies when you have friends like that! 

It would have been all to easy for me to throw myself on the couch like a beached whale but instead headed out of the door stomping and huffing.  How? Why? What was this invisible force pulling me away from the promise of fish, chips and peas?  Did I care?  Should I care? I was actually doing this mystical activity called EXERCISE and without someone threatening me with a shitty stick!  Eureka!

During the walk I thrashed out a lot of stuff in my head; money worries, work worries, the bloody dresses and much more and I as I walked I could feel my back starting to ache more and more as I became aware of carrying the additional 4 stone I had acquired over the last few years.  I was amazed how far I had actually gone without thinking about it and although I wasn't sweating like a dieter in a confectioners I was pretty warm and did feel a sense of achievement upon return an hour later.

Could this be the beginning of the end of the dreaded spare tyre(s) and the epic journey from pig to twig...

Hugs and kisses

Miss Piggy x