Devastated

I had the most humiliating experience of my entire life last week.

Mr B has a new car. (Don't panic, we haven't won the lottery and left you out or anything, it's a lease car). It has all these fancy gadgets, one of which is parking sensors. You know, those stupid beepers that warn you when you're about to crash into a large solid object like a wall or another vehicle?

Mr B picked me up from work the other day and I went to put my stuff in the boot.

I set the sensors off.

They thought I was a vehicle.

Carry On Midwifery

During pregnancy, visiting your midwife is supposed to be a positive and reassuring experience. With my midwife, it is more like an episode of a carry on film.

At a recent visit, the midwife began by calling me by my middle name. This is not good. I do not like my middle name. I do not use my middle name. I most certainly do not want my first name to be replaced by it. Said midwife did not understand what she had done to irritate me, even after a very clear and concise explanation from Mr B, who was trying to spare her a very slow and painful death-by-Mrs-B's-evil-eye. 

She then attempted to take blood. You will soon understand why I say attempted. First, she had to find the needle and relevant vials in which to collect my blood. On the surface, this would appear like a relatively simple task, however, it transpires it requires some detective skills. After all, locating a box of empty vials on the top of the only filing cabinet in the room is rather like searching for a snowball in the Arctic (I'm sure you'll agree). 

After locating those pesky vials, she then went to sterilise her hands. Good move, I thought, until she squirted the hand gel at the window instead of in her hands. This was the woman I was supposed to let near me with a sharp and pointed needle. Mr B kept saying everything would be fine. He tells lies. 

She began with my right arm. She tried to find a vein, failed, and stabbed me randomly in the muscle of my arm before saying "oh, there's nothing coming out of that one" as though surprised that my muscle was not leaking blood. She moved to the left arm. She tightened the band around it, then proceeded to watch the vials roll off the desk onto the floor, before looking around the room in amazement that they had disappeared. By this point there was a rather large, throbbing, purple vein from which to take the blood. You could not have missed it if you tried. Hell, I could have taken the blood from my own arm it was that big. She missed. Or rather, punctured the vein in a variety of places, leaving me with a rather heavily bleeding left-arm (which later turned into the most horrendous bruise you have ever seen from a simple blood test).

This is the woman I am supposed to trust to bring my baby safely into the world. Suddenly a home birth is not looking like such a terrible idea....

Game Answers

Well, we have returned from our anniversary holiday in Grasmere, and I know you are dying to know the answers to the hangman game, so here you are...


Game One

A jigsaw puzzle made out of a photograph from our wedding day 

Game Two

Afternoon tea for two at the Linthwaite Hotel in Windermere

Game Three

A new shirt, well it is a cotton anniversary after all

Game Four

A card


I also bought him two other shirts and a pair of skinny jeans.


He bought me this:

I think he wins...

Holiday Blues

I totally have the holiday blues already. Yes, you read that right. Me, Queen of the holiday countdown, has the holiday blues. You want to know why? Mr B. That's why.

In the car on the way to work this morning, we had a holiday conversation:

Me: This is our last working day until our holidays.

Mr B: Then how many more days?

Me: Today and two more.

Mr B: So, how many days until we go back to work?

Me: Gnjorhgoh?nlb!lnbldgn*jdjbvksjb?!!!

WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO DO THAT BEFORE YOUR HOLIDAYS HAVE EVEN STARTED? WHY?????!!!!!

Asshats

Dear Well-Known Retailer (whose name I cannot mention because it will let the cat out of the bag),

I recently placed an order on your website. This order was for an anniversary gift for my husband. Our anniversary is on Tuesday. I placed the order on 8th May and was advised by your website, and by email, that the estimated delivery time was 6-8 working days. It has now been 9 working days.

On contacting your Customer Services, I was advised that the website information is "incorrect" and the estimated production and delivery time is actually 16-18 working days. I pointed out that it might be advisable for this information to be made available on the website as the product is advertised under the "gift" section, so it is likely that people making such a purchase are doing so as a gift. If not, there is something quite seriously wrong with them.


I was then advised by the helpful gentleman that he would see if there was anything he could do to speed things up. Whilst a 20% discount is a welcome gesture, I fail to see how this improves upon the delivery time. The Customer Service assistant did not understand the problem and pointed out that this was only an additional 10 days. Clearly, in his opinion, my wedding anniversary is a moveable feast. Perhaps in another 10 days I will have another lovely holiday booked and another round of cards and presents? No? Well, it might have been prudent to deliver my order on time then!

Please bear this in mind for future customers.

Regards,

Mrs B

Stupidity I Have Heard : The Main Food Groups

Travelling on trains with work has it's amusing moments. Overhearing a person having an inexplicably loud conversation in the Quiet Coach of a train can be very irritating ... except when the conversation goes like this:

"You've got to get him to eat all the main food groups ... yeah, you know, the five main food groups ... calcium, fat, vegetables, solids and liquids ... well, maybe he needs more liquids then"

I wonder if the five main food groups have changed since I went to school....

Conversations With Mr B : Baby Face

Scene: Mr B and I are standing at the top of our stairs. Mr B looks at me and randomly squishes my face.

Me: what are you doing?

Mr B: trying to see what our baby will look like.