‘You’re being really childish recently…‘ said the dreamy bit of ex-solider, to his new found Glamour Pussy wife. (I enjoy how I typed ‘soldier’ in a jolly old lower case lettering and ‘Glamour Pussy’ in captials. 🙂 Priorities much! I’m saving the world a wink at a time! )
Life at home is great. I managed to get my hubby back to ‘sizzle’ again and simply via a cuddle. All he needed was of attention, a wee bit of love and within seconds he was gleefully jumping around with joy. Keiran’s the kind of man who needs cuddles, who needs love, who needs attention and he especially needs it from the girl that he loves. I don’t blame him really. We’re all like that in Wunna Land. Yet, it was lovely to see him get his spark back. I adore my bit of hubby. He certainly makes my world go around. My hearts all a flutter and i’m skipping to the giddy beat of happiness. (Even though i did threaten him this morning, stating that he would die five years earlier if he didn’t kiss me in bed. We’re currently at his golf lesson at Walton Driving Range. Beautiful weather. Perfect for a bit of ball whacking. I don’t actually play, at all. I simply watch and adore. I’ve infact made great friends with the owners..which makes sitting and pouting much more fabulous. I’m not one for playing golf when preggo. I’m all about buying and adorning the perfect outfit, more than excelling with a club in my hand. I don’t need a club to whack balls. All I need is my wiggle..bump ‘n all.
Okay, so lets get down to why I’m childish…:)
Keiran and I had a beautiful day with one another and enjoyed each others company as per usual. I worked online. He watched a bit of telly. We gobbled up pasta and life was all a dandy.
Later that evening, after a dollop of ‘Real Housewives Beverly Hills’ (my favourite show ever…we both watch it) we decide to venture on off to buy groceries to feed our delicious family and well to also fancy our chances at winning £18 million on the Euromillions., You’ve got to be in it to win in. Give me my millions.
Anyway, we were all a giddy, throwing in steaks and apples and whatnots. We purchase our bits and bobs, followed by two separate Euromillions lines and a couple of scratch cards, whilst also putting Wednesday nights National lottery on. (We never get time to get it all done, so we bunch it all up in one. Wait! He’s now telling me all the things that he wants for his upcoming birthday, as I type. I enjoy how he’s gone from, ‘lets not make a big deal about birthdays and valentines…’ to ‘I want golf lessons, a suit, a log cabin…’ Hahaha. He’s cute! It’s only because he saw Ruby get the official two year old ‘Princess’ treatment..that he’s now like ‘hang on a second.’ 🙂 God, this weather is divine. I could sunbathe, if i didn’t have my giant faux fur on. 🙂 Pass me my Diors. Why is Keiran fist pumping? Did I miss something?)
Shit! I keep forgetting to tell you the story. Okay…so we buy our lottery tickets etc…and we venture back home. As we’re pulling up to our house, Keiran thinks he’s going to have a little joke with me and tell me that since HE bought the lottery tickets, including my own ticket, that if the winning numbers are on those tickets HE will be taking all the winnings and then divorcing me. 🙂
Now..my turn. *BOOM* (Don’t start something you can’t finish mister. 🙂 Oh and don’t fuck with my money. 🙂 )
So, i politely replied with a ‘They’re MY numbers, you have my ticket, as soon as I get in i’m signing it so you can’t claim it.’
‘No babe. I’m not giving you it. I’m keeping it and if you win, i’m taking everything and divorcing you. I’ll be like SEE YA!’
Aahh funny! Not. I got pissed off. Not really over the money. Not really over the divorcing. Yet more over the fact that i needed justice. Wait no…plus, i hated losing money and i hated the art of divorce. Maybe something inside me believed him a little, which is never very good.
So i did what any little ‘Diva’ would do in this situation. No, not slash his tyres. That’s only after they’ve cheated. 🙂 I instead looked at him, smirked and said, ‘That’s perfectly fine Keiran. I’ll just walk to the Spar and buy MY OWN tickets. You can have my numbers. I’ll just buy new, because i can. I’ll let you have them. That way, if I win. I WIN. Then YOU’RE NOT ENTITLED to ANY of my winnings…and i’ll divorce you.’
Bingo! His face changed. But he still thought I was bluffing.
I tottered out the car, put my hand on my bump, grabbed my glitzy handbag and strutted to the local Spar, after getting chased by dogs to buy my own shit. As I passed the house he popped his head out the top bedroom window shouting ‘Chrissie, what are you doing? You’r enot really going to buy your own numbers are you? I was joking! God, you’re being childish. You always take things too far.’
By now I was fuming, so i was angry strutting, yet with a sassy swagger, as there’s nothing more sexy than an independant woman. Ladies should never be reliant on men financially because there’s a certain freedom to being able to do what you want and purchase the things that you want yourself, especially to win arguments 🙂 that every woman needs and has to love.
I mean if i couldn’t i would’ve had to sit there, take the joke and let him play silly boy games with me for fun. I’m not a joke. I mean BUSINESS. Let’s play MY SILLY GAME instead! #fun Therefore i stripped him of control (even though he was only joking) and did my ‘Destiny’s child’ booty dance.
I not only rebought my numbers, but I got 4 more lines because I could AND then purchased four £5 scratch cards because I knew it would wind him up.
That’s why I’m apparently childish. He later stated that i was such a ‘little girl’ for buying my own numbers. I replied with a ‘honey, buying your own things is a BIG GIRLS game, not a little girls game.’ It shut him up, we laughed and we quickly got back to fairytale.
Life is good. Love your 100 years and celebrate!