A work man’s just been.
My boiler or something or other decided not to work, so British Gas were called and a work man was sent out immediately. (I hate being cold, but i’m quite laid back, so I was simply going to leave it. However, then I realized that it was probably going to be really cold and I’m shit at making good decisions..so they were called in…and HELLOOO….WE HAVE HEAT! ALL FIXED. Nothing is better than the utter feel of warmth. I’m exotic. BUT remember that there are thousands of people on the streets right now, not all druggies and misfits…but some of them who are children or mothers…who won’t get the joy of such a luxury.)
Sorry for being preachy,. but it’s true. I’m pretty grateful for everything…not just diamonds. 🙂
Anyway, the workmen arrived and usually I hate work men in the house, especially late because it almost feels intrusive, yet he was all blushy, shy and did that weird eye look at me, like he might find me moderately attractive. (This sounds like a budget porn.) He got straight to the job (the boiler that is) and i made intrusive witty remarks all the way through his stay and really just to ease his shyness.
He had tools, but not the right ones, so had to rush off to his mates to get them. When he came back 20 mins later, he had spruced up a little, smelt like Jean Paul Gautier and was chewing gum. PAHAHAH. Unfortunately, for him…in that time, my Mother had popped over, with a giant cottage pie, so any fantasy wooing he had going on in his head, got killed. LOL.
(Note, this may all sound odd to you, but it happens to me ALL THE TIME. I mean, look at Handy Man Mike…he tried to bone me, after saying I looked like Britney Spears?…All i needed was to have a blind fitted, not a ‘leak’…well..’plumbed’…to ‘Baby One More Time.’ Apparently, I was simply naive though, as Handymen do it all the tine, according to my buddy ‘Ruth.’ I mean, as soon as I mentioned the word ‘Handyman,’ she butted in with an immediate ‘RANDYman’ like I was the most foolish bimbo in the planet. I swear, i’m not foolish, I’m just trusting…and unfortunately in men. So yeah, Handymen, like Personal Trainers…are rubbish at fixing things or training your abs, but ace if you’re looking to get ‘boned.’ I’m too old and frigid for that. 🙂 But yes, they are today’s words of wisdom for you. )
Work was good today. Legs kill. Eyelashes still fluttered. I’m now stuffing my face with cottage pie, after cleaning my entire home from top to bottom, as ‘Vanderpump Rules’ was on in the background. (FYI. I LOVE LISA VANDERPUMP. I want to BE HER.) I think i need to hire a cleaner, as I don’t have time to do it all. I just end up throwing everything away, as i find that much easier than cleaning it or even worse ORGANIZING IT. (KILL ME!) Then…work, work, babies, babies gets in the way. Followed by, getting excited by life, my forest holiday in June and drinking. There’s no hope really. I’ve already thrown away three bags of whatever i couldn’t be bothered to organize. I looked at a pan once and because it seemed beyond my patience and far too dirty after cooking a giant spag bol, I lobbed it in the nearest wheely bin. Fuck it. I’ll buy another. What? It works for me. I had a friend moan at me with a ‘GOD, I’D NEVER DREAM OF DOING THAT!!!’ *Wunna shrugs here.*
I mean, why? it’s just a fucking pan. Not golden dipped, diamonds, that come with magical dwarf powers. (Don’t know what that means? Don’t care either. At least I didn’t wake up in covered in mushy peas. A friend of mine did on Sunday.)
Okay, Cottage pie has filled my belly and made me tired. I have work in the morning and we’re only on Wednesday.