Friday, July 4, 2014

Thursday, 3 July 2014 – Everywoman, everything, everywhere

Status: All-round wonder woman.
Mood: Invincible….   sort of.
Calories consumed: I might be within my limit. Possibly.
Calories used: About 10 litres of sweat worth.
Alcohol: On third large glass of rose (say no more)

Start day ready for whatever's coming my way. Plenty of work waiting in In Box when I log in at 7.30am (Yay! Am not obsolete!)
Good news? Working from home today, so dive in without having to worry about putting on clothes fit for human consumption, combing hair, applying a trowel’s worth of Polyfilla and slap to face, and boarding to Love Train to the office. Bad news? 
Two hours later, am still sitting in sweaty nightdress, without benefit of underwear, gently oozing onto my seat as the day’s heat ramps up. Am personification of slatterness.

Remember hearing on news that Greek power company's planned power cuts due to employees’ strike in protest at privatisation plans. No warning of when, or for how long, in Athens. Decide to make the most of power while we still have it, and make family lunch at breakfast time.

Pulled away from kitchen by insistent “ding!” of new emails dropping like a summer shower into In Box. Try to type replies with elbows as fingertips covered with mixture of feta, cream cheese, mint and olive oil.

Yes, ladies. You too can have it all!

Cheese pie slapped in oven with a prayer to Patron Saint of the Incomplete Hostess to give it time to cook before plunging us back into the electricity-free Dark Ages. Lick filling off fingers, thanks heaven it’s not a fast day, and wipe hands on cat.

Throw cat hair and cheese pie filling covered nightdress in laundry basket and step into shower to rinse the 30 degree heat off gorgeous middle-aged bod. Cat sits on side of bath blinking at me with the critical eye of a Weight Watchers’ meeting coordinator.
Wonder if cats have cellulite under all that fur?

Step out of shower, smelling like a sweetshop (pistachio and gardenia shower cream), shake hair into mop-like shape and throw on knickers and slob clothes to tackle emails dinging merrily away in the lounge. 

Smell of burning reminds me of pie in oven. Race down corridor to kitchen, tripping over cat in the process, throw over door open and grab pie dish. Ouch! (Note to self: You have oven gloves for a reason). Carve blackened tips of fyllo pastry off top and resolve to tell the menfolk it’s mean to look that way.

Nursing blistered thumb and forefinger, return to laptop and professional career woman mode, safe in the knowledge no-one can see me. Race through online stuff, leaving other tasks for when the lights go out.

No.1 Son officially on holiday and in Teenage Slob heaven. Rolls out of bed (miraculously making it in the process!) and meanders into the kitchen mumbling something about coffee. Cheery response of “Yes please, darling!” ignored.

OH also joins land of the living, throwing a grunt of testosterone in my direction as he wonders past in saggy grey boxer shorts (must point him in direction of Athens branch of Marks & SparksVERY soon). Who says romance is dead after the first two years?

Day passes in a blur of emails, absently gobbled plate of rescued cheese pie and a soundtrack of “Uncharted” on the Playstation. No.1 and band mates start jamming in next room just as I tackle article that needs to be cut down to 500 words from 1,200. Just what I needed – inspiration!

Purse lips, bite tongue and soldier on. They’ve got a live show tomorrow, so must be understanding. Must also decide what to wear to gig that’s suitably “rock mama” without signaling utter humiliation for only child (tempting though the thought is).

Close laptop, change into sweats and head for gym to produce body weight in perspiration (dear old dad used to say “Horse sweat, men perspire, ladies glow”. Am glowing like a pig by time I get back home).

Just call me woman for all seasons, folks. Wife, mother, career woman, gourmet cook, exercise guru….   sort of.

Celebrate spent calories with cheese sarny and a fresh bottle of wine. I've earned it, right?

Start stressing out what to wear as the oldest groupie in town tomorrow night. By end of second glass, no longer care – and bed is looking extremely attractive.

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