Soooooooo blog readers, WallyBubba appreciators and people googling vaginas (I get a lot of traffic from that… #proud)… next week, something unusual is happening…
Something completely out of the ordinary…
Because on Monday. The WallyDaddy and I will leave the toddler for almost an entire week while we head off to Venice…
Think of all the shit she can f@*k up in a week with the Grandparents fuelling her with ice cream and blueberries every day… *winces*… I’m not even sure I’ll have a house to come home to?! She’s probably on frigging MySpace right now organising some kind of toddler rave to take place in my living room… with a bring-your-own-bottle-and-wellies policy, a kilo of haribo and some livestock… Shit.
But, to be serious for a second, I’m not actually sure how I’M going to cope without her for a week… I’m not saying I won’t revel in some ACTUAL BASTARD SLEEP, or enjoy a week without the all weather play-ground trips and generally NOT having to run my life around the toddler’s yoghurt-come-softplay schedule…. but I’ve never gone more than a day and a night without seeing her… and I’m feeling slightly apprehensive.
Once we’re into day two of our trip, I genuinely think I’m going to start missing my crusty, marmite-infused clothing and being continually pooed and/or climbed on. And it’ll be weird looking ‘nice’ for an entire week… I’m not sure I remember how to do it… I can’t even remember if I own a hairbrush or a pair of pants that actually matches a bra?! I have absolutely no idea if I can even manage a whole slice of toast on my own, or if I don’t enjoy sitting on the floor as opposed to actual furniture these days… Jesus. I’ll even be using a proper handbag for the entire week and everything. F@*k. Actual F@&K.
So whilst I expect no sympathy whatsoever whilst I head off for a week of adult-only wining, dining and romantic culture… do think of me, sat on a gondola mid-way up the grand canal… crying into my pac-a-mac like a twat and blubbing that no-one’s spat cheerios in my eye for three days… and that gin just doesn’t taste the same unless it’s out of a sippy-cup… *sniff*
See you in a week MoFos.
p.s. No f@*king un-following me while I’m gone.
p.p.s. Yes, I actually bought a pac-a-mac. You have permission to punch me in the face if you ever see me wearing it in public.