“awww, bless you bunny” are the words that popped out of my mouth as I locked the backdoor and spied him sunbathing in the garden before toddling off to have my hair done. Oh gosh, that orgasmic head massage *mmmyesmmm* … now I’m moving in with The Blokey I shall have to get him to work his magic.
Today was a mustard mashing fun filled extravaganza involving phone calls to water companies, electricity companies and town councils. And the obligatory clearing of the clutter. Three big bags for the dustbin men, two for the charity people and one for the recycling chaps and now my bedroom is clear and I only have to worry about under the stairs. And the kitchen cupboards. I have been brutal. You would all be proud of me. Although I will admit to being a little confuggled over my tapes. How can I get rid of the likes of Oingo Boingo, Rick Astley, The Mission, Therapy?, Backlash and Sisters of Mercy when they are the soundtrack to my lesser years, despite the fact that I may not listen to them much anymore [according to the one inch layer of dust that covered them]? And not one single spider popped its head up and waved cheerily at me in the hope of making me scream. They must all be on holiday.
Ah, holiday. Only one more day of work and then my half-term holiday begins. A whole week of visiting Ikea, hiring vans, unpacking, playing with my new electric appliances, having smooches on “our” bed, getting drunk, seeing HP3 and revealing to The Blokey that I can’t cook … he’ll be expecting more than the Saturday lunchtime pasta and egg [with scrummy cheese on top] that he usually gets. How will I cope?
I found this whilst clearing oodles of paper in my room [it’s old, I know, just humour me like lovable rogues] …
You don’t know Jack Schitt?
Many people are at a loss for a response when someone says, “you don’t know Jack Schitt.” Now you can intellectually handle the situation.
Jack is the only son of Awe Schitt and O. Schitt. Awe Schitt, the fertilizer magnate, married O. Schitt, a partner of Kneedeep & Schitt Inc.
In turn, Jack Schitt married Noe Schitt, and the deeply religious couple produced six children: Holie Schitt, Fulla Schitt, Giva Schitt, Bull Schitt, and the twins, Deep Schitt and Dip Schitt.
Against her parents’ objections, Deep Schitt married Dumb Schitt, a high school drop out.
After being married fifteen years, Jack and Noe Schitt divorced.
Noe Schitt later married Mr Sherlock, and because her children were living with her, she wanted to keep her previous name. She was known as Noe Schitt-Sherlock.
Dip Schitt married Loda Schitt and they produced a nervous son, Chicken Schitt.
Fulla Schitt and Giva Schitt were inseperable throughout childhood and subsequently married the Happens brothers in a dual ceremony. The wedding announcement in the newspaper announced the Schitt-Happens wedding.
The Schitt-Happens children were Dawg, Byrd and Hoarse.
Bull Schitt, the prodigal son, left home to tour the world. He recently returned from Italy with his new bride, Piza Schitt.
So now if someone says, “you don’t know Jack Schitt”, you can correct them. Not only do you know Jack, you know his whole family.
please God bless the monkey in the tree xxx Elsabeth