Hallo,
So as I sit here at my little angular window in my pent house apartment near town I wonder as to what I write about this week. As I glance over to an empty cider bottle from the weekend I recall the fun and games that were had.
Friday night was more than warm as I finished work and arrived outside Mr. Warehouse's home he shares with his mother. Sun beating down and the day still bright I was hoping that the rest of the weekend would be blessed with the same weather. Tumbling into the higgledy-piggledy village home I said hello to the dog and struck up a conversation with Momma Warehouse. But as the evening rolled on I could see how anxious Mr. Warehouse was getting. You see Mr. Warehouse (Creepy Warehouse Guy) had invited me, Mr. Warehouse and the rest of the office out for a few drinks at the local village pub. There was a cider festival on all weekend and I wasn't about to say no to some flat and probably rather potent scrumpy.
And so, as I donned my completely inappropriate heels, Mr. Warehouse and I walked into the pub, gossiping as we went. Greeted by not only a very sozzled Mr. CWG who had been drinking from the moment he got out of work at 3pm, but also some of Mr. Warehouse's family that were visiting for the weekend. But as the band started to play and the sun began to set I realised that not only were my feet hurting but I also felt a little out of my depth. With not much to say or people to mingle with I attempted to join in conversations that I had no clue about.
Nevertheless the whole evening was not like that and to my own recollection we ceased drinking and went home just after a conversation about how a female vagina is also known as a "Taco". Why? I don't know. What I do know is that that is an awful phrase to use. When I think of Taco's I think of everything falling out, the crisp cracker's betraying you as the buckle under the weight of the cheese, sauce and meat. Taco's are messy and spicy. Everything that I think about Taco's is the complete opposite when I think about Fanny. If we are in comparison with food stuffs and female genitalia then surely it would range from a poorly made ham sandwich, whereby the ham is falling out all over the place thus making it slightly less desirable than say a neatly shaped piece of Gnocchi, or my personal favourite - a carefully sliced roll. Obviously everyone's vagina is lovely and perfect in their own special way but for me and the lads that were left it all made for a very hysterically conversation.
Saturday morning I awoke to the lawnmower going and a quick succession of sneezes, coughs and snotty tissues. Ahh yes, the grips of Hayfever! Don't you just love it! Popping my pills I threw on some clothes and headed downstairs to some toast and jam. Two, somewhat productive hours later and Mr. Warehouse and I had finally booked the hotel for our end of Summer getaway to Lyon, which may not be as rosey as we once thought, especially upon hearing of what one disgruntled employee did to one of his bosses - See News - But then again with some of the places I have worked in the past, I can easily see how you can be pushed too far. Afternoon Tea with Grandma-ma was next though and stepping out into the sunshine I could tell that the day was going to be good. After a cracking natter about most things including getting old, sharting and the current economic crisis in Greece I think we were done for the day. With the promises of seeing each other soon I waved her off and headed back to get ready for a memorial service with a twist.
Mr. Warehouse's Granddad had passed away some years before I came along and every year since then the whole family comes together to celebrate in his death and the life he once lead. And to honour the matriarch of the clan we all drank, ate and played as much pool and darts until our little hearts were content. I have discovered that I am not terrible at pool especially since the last time I played was in High School and even then it was to impress the boys! Darts I did well at too and although no one was injured in the process I did discover that just because you hit the bullseye once (or twice in my case) does not mean you automatically win. So in between cuddles with babies, sipping on alcopops and forging a friendship between myself and a group of 10-year-old nieces belonging to Mr. Warehouse and his family I enjoyed the weekend and somewhat put into perspective for me what the future could hold if I allowed this future to happen.
And so my weekend pretty much has been spent with family. Some of them my own but the majority of them not. At least not yet anyway. But that's an inside thought. So Shhh ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
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