Puking, sliding and saviours

Oh my God. I spent last night PUKING down a toilet bowl, adorning my beautifully glamourous Hollywood hair do, with a random bright yellow ‘slush puppy’ t-shirt on and far too much dodgy Italian food in ym belly.

We did ‘Date Night.’ It obviously went well. Loverboy made sure i didn’t drink the strong wine before we ventured out, so that I didn’t fall asleep mid conversation, in my diamantes and boobies. I also believe that the idea of saving the strong wine for later, was so it would hopefully ‘hit’ me later and i’ll get kinky to ‘can-can’ music. Hardly. I can’t even get my legs to ‘Quarter to 3’ now, without doing my back in. I’m a has been of a ‘Racy Lacy.’ Luckily, i’m quite glad of that. Who’da thought?

Anyway, i didn’t even puke due to cocktailing. I know. Eww! I puked because we went to our local little Italian restuarant. A place that I actually usually adore and pretty much only because it’s nearest and well the guy who owns it is old and pervy. My fave type of perv. If you slop a heavy Italian-Yorkshire accent on top of that and hands that wonder faster than the eyes…then there you have it. A great time when on vodka tonic! *Glitter shower here.*

Okay, the food is usually wonderful here, hence why i totterd down there with my bedroom eyes and ‘Handosme.’ It was now raining, yet not finding it too bad, due to being hand inhand with my hunka-chunka. I’m giddy. I’m excited. And i and starving at this point, whilst Pete’ s deciding to be paranoid about his receeding hair line. (His new thing is to now grow his hair out, so he can comb it over the receeding area. Erm..? A comb over at 25. Nice. Plus, Pete’ s half black..meaning in a week, he’ll be rocking an afro comb-over. This is what i do to men. Now i’m not a a chubby preggo-hontas, he’s all worried that he’ll now look not as yummy. Funny how he believes an afro comb-over would be a better choice? Yet it’s better than the time he actually coloured in his hairline with my black eyeliner.)

I wrongly chose the salad when we were out. It was Caesar and rubbish. My body rejected it..and my body rejects NOTHING!! The owner told me that he had been forced to cook last night, due to a staff  member taking a 3 month leave. (Don’t enjoy the word ‘FORCED.’) And that he didn’t actually like cooking, ashe’d prefer to be out and about perving on all the Ladies. He claimed he felt like he was ‘missing out on something.’ But I understand that. He’s a showman, just like moi. I’d hate to be trapped back in the sweaty corner of a kitchen, attempting to make people dinner, in an outfit that pretty much screams ‘Fashion Crime.’ Especially when the other option is‘perving on people and being Italian.’

Walked home, Loverboy in tact. Got to my sofa, immediately felt ill and tired. I’d worked all day. Fell asleep, went to do a wee, got to the loo and ended up PUKING out ALL of my rubbish Caeser salad and then making Pete come and ese what i’d done.

After i’d been sick, i felt Friday was no longer worth pursuing…so i slid into my leopard print pyjamas and conked out in bed at around 11pm.

Romance is alive.

Woke up recieved text mesasges from Lit.Agents mummiesand everyone ele swith the ability to text…and then tripped over 2 platsic bags filled with empty wine bottles that Pete apparently thought was a great idea to place in our bedroom, at the bottom of the bed to hide from the boiler man? (It’s like a sick nursery rhyme.) I’m over waking up to a stream of text messages. It makes me begin the day like a maniac..with tits. 🙂

Finally got my little baby Ruby back from Grandma..and now enjoying life..the good, clean proper way.

That little girl is quite frankly my saviour and totally in lemon bows right now ! I’m a great role model. 🙂 *Wiggle-wink*

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