*(the Bossman managed to refer to himself as a bachelor the other week, so I totally get to do this. We are so on the rocks.)
But first; the last, four-day slog of work before the exciting four days of Not work! And so, in the run-up to the Easter weekend, I was A) turned into a drooling, shambling, blood-stained wreck who shouldn’t have been out in public, B) running around in my underwear, (not in public) and C) discovering this wasn’t a good idea because at some point my boobs have grown to twice their original size. Gahhhhh.
Alas, this is not multiple choice: all these things happened. (Some other stuff happened too, but this sounds more headline-grabbing right?) The drooling and shambling were courtesy of my Amazing New Rock Dentist, who gave me all the anaesthetic (so I still don’t know where all the blood came from, but she did assure me it was all mine). This was a nice change from my other filling, which didn’t seem to feature much blood, but featured sod-all anaesthetic either. (Admittedly, this was partly my own fault; if the nice dentist asks you if you “want ‘numbness’, or, ‘no numbness'”, this is NOT a real question).
The running around in my underwear… well, after courting* a potential flatmate all week and having this fall through, I have been counting my blessings of Having No Flatmates.
*(Seriously, this is more like dating than I had previously thought possible. They contact you, you chat online, you strike up a rapport, spending an hour each evening writing longer and more off-topic emails back and forth, they declare you to be their perfect soulmate, you arrange The Big Skype Interview and then they suddenly have to move to Iceland or something. Leaving nothing but a note saying, it’s Not Me, It’s Them. I think it’s my teeth.)
Admittedly, the blessings of Having No Flatmates consist of 1. I can sing (well, I can’t, hence the ‘only when no flatmates’), and 2. I can run around in my underwear. (In between sobbing quietly into my bank balance). However, during said frolicking, I discovered that I can’t do that either, because C) what the HELL, chest. The only thing it would be more expensive for me to suddenly grow out of is my shoes.
So, did I mention the bank balance?
Fortunately, I also got one of those unsolicited phonecalls this week – the kind where they ask you for your bank details. Thus I may actually soon be able to afford underwear That Fits, courtesy of my Chestnut-Haired Old Mother. There is no end to the amount of loserdom I am feeling right now.
Just to rub it in, the Bossman is currently spending ten days On Business In Nice.
(Though I get to process his receipts later and I get paid for it, oh thankyou merciful god).
So yeah. Cue Bachelorette Easter Long Weekend! (Which, after all that build-up, is going to be massively disappointing and nothing like the title suggests at all! So, sorry about that.)
Unless, and this is a long shot, you were expecting it to feature a big fight against a load of raspberry bushes (which I won, cos I have legs, well, most of my legs after that), the hauling out of all the bedroom furniture to check for evil interdimensional portals behind the wardrobes (verdict: evil-dimensional-portal-free! woo! Not spending long weekend tearing a second room apart, hurrah! also, that means it was all the Tweedles’ fault the spare room got like that), staggering a couple of miles with Hellcramps to appropriate the last two scaffolding timbers that were in any kind of nick (am going to build Perimeter Fence), a load of seed-planting and a big round-up of the homebrew, the gutting out of the whole flat (at the end of which, the flat mysteriously resembled more of a bombsite than at the start), lots of Sums and some unfeasibly early nights. Except that one where I stayed up till four in the morning with a bottle of port, writing a pseudo-Lovecraft story. God, it’s like being a kid all over again.
Except, I got out the tape-measure and the handy M&S size guide and was informed that I am now an E cup. An E cup. Oh fuck right off! That’s Bravissimo sizes, (translation into English: ‘twice the price of smaller bras’). Do they even DO sports bras in these sizes? And how did ballooning three cup sizes even happen when the rest of me appears to be exactly the same size it was before?
It appears that yet again, I have to eat my words. In this case my, ‘yeah okay so most of what I am wearing at any given moment is hand-me-downs, but I don’t do second-hand underwear‘ words. Unless it turns out we are talking half a month’s rental income for a week’s underwear (and no rental income!). Le sigh. Let us type in the shameful phrase, ‘Second-Hand Bras On Ebay’.
Moving swiftly onward to (marginally) less shameful things, I saw NO PEOPLE AT ALL for three whole days and it was AWESOME because I work with the public and I need a break from Everybody right now. And everybody is off spending time with their families, which works out Splendidly. And nobody called and I called nobody (well, okay, I called my Chestnut-haired Old Mother, because I have some vestiges of humanity), and it was Fab.
And as I was sat on Easter Sunday evening, feeling quite chuffed with myself and my hermitude – and also, right when the flat was at its maximum level of Piles of Stuff That Are About To Get Moved Somewhere Else – three people contacted me to say, can we come round on Easter Monday to view it.
Also on Easter Monday, I discovered my phone had turned itself onto Plane Mode! at some point, as indicated by a single azure pixel near the top, and when I turned it back into a phone that actually works, I has missed approximately 59 texts and several calls, most of which were from relatives. Balls.
There should be a law against having to gut out your whole flat twice in one weekend, I am just saying. However! Let it be noted that during three months at Def Con Two levels of tidiness, I had twenty no-shows in a row, while within 48 hours of piling everything I own into one big mess, it was Def Con One. Go figure. And every single one of them actually showed up! (What, did everyone just spend Easter with their families or something?)
So in addition to all that I have wrought, I now have the promise of a lodger (although we have been down that path before, so I ain’t holding my breath), the promise of free corrugated iron off some strangers, and the promise of another stranger coming to drive it across town for me in a van for no pay (oh God, who does that? He is a serial killer. Or the potential flatmate is. Or BOTH), and I had time to try out a couple of new recipes involving Stuff I Grew Myself. I am thus both the saddest, and the happiest, bachelorette ever!
And as I went to bed, giving thanks for my good fortune, it occurred to me that I was over the moon about having had four days to myself doing Sums, and scoring free corrugated iron for making a perimeter fence with. So while I still count myself as damn lucky, on account of being so shamefully easily pleased, I think ‘successful’ is off the cards.
Though I have also spent the last four days working up the plot for a shits’n’giggles Starship Troopers/ Cthulhu In Space! novel that will also rip off Judge Dredd, Warhammer 40K and anything else I can shoehorn in, really. (I have to stay away from TVtropes; last time I got into it, the Zombie Chronicles of Nonsense resulted. At least only one person has read it, however!)
So if nothing else, should I get round to doing anything about this, I will be sued into oblivion.