I like to hide in my ensuite. I read magazines, fantasise over Boystown Lottery brochures and take long showers. Sprog 2 - aka The Mummy Homing Pigeon - has a sixth sense about when I'm trying to escape my familial obligations. I was in the shower yesterday when I heard her special method for opening the ensuite door - pulling it shut before opening... Continue Reading →

When it comes to people in need, the less fortunate or the next round at the pub - sometimes all three at once - Husband throws money around like confetti. It's my excuse (to myself) for being a tight arse. Someone has to show restraint or we'll end up being the ones needing help. I keep that firmly in... Continue Reading →

I've misplaced my Christmas spirit. One day it was there, the next, pouf, gone. I'd really been looking forward to the festive season. I couldn't wait for all those carols and the goodwill to all men. But now I'm feeling flatter than a tap-poured Diet Coke at the pub. Carols in the Park was just a yakkety-yak social gathering... Continue Reading →

A grumpy old woman was in the queue before me at the bank last week. She was 70 in the shade. The bank teller turned his computer screen around to prove he wasn't lying to her. I was his next customer. I smiled sympathetically at him. He took my cheque and looked at his screen. His eyes went a teeny bit wide. "I was... Continue Reading →

I couldn't put it off any longer. I'd made enough excuses to Husband, to myself. I had to do it. Now my inner thighs are killing me. I kept hoping it wouldn't come to this, but my body-fat ratio demanded action. It was time to start jogging again. I gave it up six months ago. It was painful. It was boring. I hated it.... Continue Reading →

Queuing for 90 minutes to see Santa gave my hangover quite the kick along yesterday. As is the way with irony, Sprog 1 woke with a sudden and burning desire to meet the man in red. Must have been all those carols the night before. I suggested we visit Santa at our local shopping centre, but no dice. Sprog 1... Continue Reading →

When did you stop believing? I can't remember my moment. But I'll never forget the day my sister learned the truth. She was 12. I told her. My parents made me do it. She was going to high school and they were worried she'd be an object of mirth. She was really, really annoyed. Almost as annoyed as when I told her... Continue Reading →

I love a playdate in the park. The kids disappear and the mums chin wag. Yesterday, the converstation turned to pelvic floor muscles. Someone had to stop jumping because, you know ... A mum of four credited kegels with keeping hers taut, which inspired a group kegel session around the picnic table. All that pelvic action led someone to announce they'd heard wife-swapping was rife in my... Continue Reading →