Unclenched

My jaw, that is.

The frustration so eloquently conveyed on my previous post was due to a combination of straws, most of which are far too tedious to blog in full but weighed the camel down anyway. In short then,

Temporary pink hair colour becomes permanent when it sweats/rubs off on a white gi top.

Biting your own tongue really, really hurts.

As does tripping head first up your own stairs. Sober.

Jobs that seem perfect when you apply will prove not to be when the full specs arrive revealing not only the true hours but also the small fact of a weeks training in deepest Cornwall.

The less money you have, the more letters from school you receive asking for 'voluntary contributions' to educate your children in new and inventive ways.

Schools don't like it when you take your children out for holidays during term time. Especially if that term time is the 'arts week' they want me to pay £45 for.

Bitten hard enough, a tongue can remain tho thwollen it can affect thpeech for a good three dayth or tho.

Sisters are lovely but listening to her latest crisis for the umpteenth year in a row gets very, very boring. Especially all through your birthday lunch 'treat'.

The thought of belated birthday drinks with the girls is hard to look forward to given that sister's MO when mixing angst with alcohol is to have an emotional meltdown while I organise glasses of water to be brought to the ladies and listen to the woe. Again.



Unclenching began friday lunchtime when, with my tongue finally back to normal size, I joined sis for a haircut and made very clear what I wanted for my head. And my hair. My favourite stylist worked scissory magic then later, sis controlled her alcohol intake so I didn't have to hold her new do back while she threw up.

The pub was banged out but good natured and giggly with a great band and the restaurant was busy and fun. I didn't even mind getting laughed at for ordering my fairy-gobbed combination of chicken korma and a kingfisher (jug of water on the side, please).