Thank heavens that yesterday I felt domestic inspiration and sorted that tagine. Post Body Pump, I hate to say I felt no inspiration so it would have been a poor dinner otherwise. This damn iPad loves predictive text. It hates the word tagine. It wants to use the word tagging. Like I spent bank holiday Monday adding those electronic gps tags on the ankles of offenders. I remember the day there was an odd looking fellow in my gym changing rooms, strutting bare arsed around with his tag gleaming. I had never seen one before and it really was bizarre to see it, a big hulk of imposing plastic. It’s one of those things, like being in a doctors waiting room, you always wonder what’s wrong with the prim looking woman in the corner. I like to imagine it’s something crude like crabs and start sniggering to myself. With the elderly I always think don’t bother, just assume it’s everything, but some of them need more urgent attention than others. I could not get past this lad’s tag. I must have stared. He probably thought I was checking him out. I would never check out anyone with Dolph Lungren hair. I just wanted to ask what did you do. I imagined some violent offence and worried myself about the staring. It was probably some mundane nonsense.
Have recovered from my blues slightly. Not totally but slightly. My carb binge has not helped. Jacket potatoes twice in a day is not ideal. But no chocolate or yogurt today. But more lemon curd sandwich type cake. But I did do an hours Body Pump. Tomorrow I may return to Body Attack. It’s not really my forte, synchronised aerobics, but I’ll take another stab at it. If only to suffer my annoying inner voice telling me I have the rhythm or a three year old. And maybe another Body Pump. Chicago being only six weeks away I need to prepare myself that I will be in another Mecca for the body beautiful. I forget that I won’t stand out like I do here, sometimes simply for accessing dentistry. I desperately need a haircut. I remain conflicted though. My hairdresser is excellent but I can’t bring myself to like him. He has no interest in engaging me in conversation at all and is a bit rough when he cuts my hair. He makes my eyes water. Do I risk that uncomfortable silent and painful haircut simply because he does a bloody good job? Or do I get an average and non painful one?
Ina would never have this conflict. I doubt she has to endure the agony of thinning scissors. And would anyone ever hurt her? She is too much like a beloved relative to cause her pain. And I doubt her hairdresser has a Mohawk. Maybe I should take some baked goods, I’m sure that’s what Ina would do. Buy her way into his good grace with some chocolate chunk cookies. Maybe I will do that, and just say I have them left over from a batch I took to work. He may buy it. Or think me a predatory bloke trying to buy my way into his absurdly tight, and therefore restrictive and uncomfortable-looking, jeans. But if I can perfect the Garten smile and air of homeliness, i’ll have perhaps found the key to a painless trim. And who wouldn’t love that?!
Pete is watching some nonsense about a submarine. Not Stingray. That I could endure. Well, like anything like that you endure it for five minutes then you realise you are 20 years older than you were when you last saw it and now it appears to be utter shite. I’m up here in relative silence, bar the odd din from what appears to be periods of silence followed by extended periods of Minnie Driver yelling. On a submarine. It’s going to sound odd but I sometimes love the idea of having time on your own but not. That is, time for solitude knowing company is in an adjoining room or just at the bottom of the stairs. It means I can indulge myself, be it blogging, reading Perez Hilton or just thinking of nothing in particular, yet I find it soothing that my me time is limited, and as soon as Huw Edwards hands over to whichever of the local news readers we must endure, I’ll have Pete back. I love life’s little routines. It’s a bit like that conversation where Jeffrey asks Ina how long she has been cooking him a certain dish and he announces the one before him is the best one yet. I roll my eyes everytime, but it’s terribly sweet nonetheless.
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