Hello New Boobs!

Bonjourno!

With Sleigh-bells a-ringing in my ears and the fast approaching nip in the air hinting at snow, I decided to spend a weekend away from the other half and with the other love in my life - Miss Tweedle-Dumb. And since Miss Tweedle-Dee was sunning herself up on a family holiday in America (Second time to he States this year the Jammy git!) I thought that there was no better time than the present to have a nice catch up with my sister from another Mister. And with less than a week until she flew out to Rome on a romantic Anniversary/Christmas getaway with her boyfriend and even less shopping days to find a dress for her works Christmas Party I felt her pain and distress. 

Joining her at the Greek restaurant back home in Dunstable, we shared a wonderful medley of meze dishes including Vine Leaves, Halloumi Cheese, Filo Pastry Sacks and chunks of grilled meats. And oh how I do love a selection of little foods that take me back to a holiday. To think that it was about eight weeks ago that Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I all returned from our Greek adventure and now it was nearly Christmas! Nevertheless as we sat and discussed the world and all of her problems, one by one we sorted them out and finally after finishing the overpriced wine we left and headed back to the warmth of Miss Tweedle-Dumb's family home where we would spend the rest of the night in fits of giggles before falling asleep together on a blow-up bed in the dining room. 

Oh but I had the best dream ever! So there I was - Setting the scene for you now; Grey city, New York I assume. Tall, tall buildings. Everything in muted colours, Grey, Brown, Black, Olive, Maroon. Then I find myself in a lift lobby or landing of an apartment suite. Evan Peters (From American Horror Story and Kick Ass - General Hot topic in my eyes and someone I would love to see under the mistletoe this holiday season) is there. He says how beautiful I am. But I am with Mr. Warehouse. I can't! Can I? Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee who I am holidaying in the city with are supportive, unusual as in that situation they would have been very opinionated and forceful in me staying faithful to Mr. Warehouse. Over the course of the dream which felt a blissfully long, the more time I spent with Evan the more colours I saw, each of them brighter than the last. Then one evening before my flight back that evening I was presented with some dresses by Evan's maid/Mom. So Many styles, all of them long and flowing ball-gowns in various technicolour, although still dull in colour - Plum, Forest green, Gold, Chocolate, Aubergine, Sea green, Midnight blue and Ruby red. I wanted them all and yet I felt I could not have them as they were not mine to keep. Confused, I had a premonition in my dream that Evan was going to propose to me. I saw the ring and him buying it, just as I had always imagined, gold band with a Blue/Black Sapphire enclosed by crystal clear diamonds. It was not long before I was standing back in the lift lobby or landing of Evan's New York City apartment suite. I explained I had to go. My Work's Christmas party was in a matter of hours and I still had to board a plane and get back to the UK. Evan held me closed, pulled me into his warm chest and embraced me like no-one had done so in a while. I knew then that this was something special. Evan said that I was something very special and that Mr. Warehouse was a very lucky guy to have me. I tore myself apart to look one last time into his beautiful brown eyes and pulled me in close. Somewhere I could hear music. Sad and slow. 

Gradually I was pulled out of the dream and back to the reality of sleeping underneath a plant pot in Miss Tweedle-Dumb's dining room. Oh the sadness, the shear and utter sadness at the realisation that my dream with Evan Peters was not reality! Genuinely the saddest and most melancholy I have ever awoken from a dream, even though there was not sex or kissing involved there was a romantic and lustful connection I felt stronger than I have felt in waking life with anyone. Reading up on the dream and its meanings later on in life (as you do) made me realise that there was more to the dream than just some intense emotions and posed some unavoidable questions that needed answering rather than just burying my head in the sand and ignoring it all. 

Getting up and getting dressed I mourned my dream in New York with Evan Peters still even as Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I got in her little car and made our way to the shopping centre, arriving just in time for some poorly prepared breakfast, followed by some equally poor service. In search for a dress, appropriate for a Work's Christmas party which has sleeves to hide bingo wings and a skater skirt to hide the other multitude of yearly sins. seemed to be harder than I thought. Too long, too short, too tight to expensive, no arm coverage! Nothing seemed to fit the bill! Angry and annoyed we tried our luck at Pepperberry and Bravissimo, hoping that the niche market of larger busts would cater to the already well endowed Miss Tweedle-Dumb. Not finding anything we liked and with half hour to kill before our manicures we decided to have a bra fitting! And boy oh boy am I glad we did. 

Turns out that for the decade or there about, I have been wearing the completely wrong bra size. I had been told a few weeks before that I was the wrong size by someone but chose to ignore it thinking I was just having a good posture day or something. But no. I had been wearing a size B to C cup since I was about sixteen. I am now ... wait for it! A size DD to an E cup!? Thats like going from Gwyneth Paltrow tits to which aren't half bad to Kelly Brook boobs! It was a transformation that happened in the space of ten minute and my god have they changed my outlook on life. I was so down trodden with the hassle of dress shopping and stress of it all and yet someone handing me a better fitting bra and confirming I have massive Bap's has not only put me in a good mood for the rest of Saturday but for the rest of the week it seems since I cant stop talking about my new boobs. I have told the warehouse guys, I told the engineers at work, my sales rep's, heck I even told Mr. Warehouse's family round the table at afternoon tea Sunday afternoon. I love my boobs and how big they are. I can't wait to see what happens in different dresses and outfits and how much better I looked after buying all these new bra's! Even today wearing my first properly fitted bra in years I felt invincible! Come on work place give me your shitty comments and your snidey office politics remarks, I shall rebuff them with my bountiful breasts! Crappy customer? WHO CARES I HAVE BIG TITS! I am in love with myself all over again which for an egotistical, hedonistic, slightly controlling megalomaniac seemed impossible! 

And yes so whilst in the grand old scheme of things that Shopping on Saturday was fruitless in terms of a dress for either mine or Miss Tweedle-Dumb's Christmas Works Do, we found out with both have new boobs! A very productive day! 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

A Greek Odyssey Like No Other

Chairete (Greek for Hello),

There is something unnatural about human-beings waking up at 3am whilst it is still dark outside and especially on a Sunday. I mean it just feels so odd. I suppose if you work at night-times you would not see much daylight but for me, the dark times of the day is for doing stuff naughty and very inappropriate for the daylight hours. Oh and sleeping. But yes I was up at this crazed hour. Why you ask? I was going on yet another holiday. Number three to be precise. And so I curled my hair, donned my airport threads and headed out the door of the family home Miss Tweedle-Dumb shares with her parent’s. But not before Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I caught Miss Tweedle-Dumb’s sister and her boyfriend in the kitchen with trousers round their ankles and blushed faces.

Hitching a lift from Miss Tweedle-Dee’s Mom we headed to the airport and after a quick cigarette whizzed through baggage and airport security, much to The Tweedles dismay that they were not frisked. Early mornings such as this, and in fact any occasion whereby an airport is involved should include a trip to Starbs. But on arrival to my fave coffee outlet of all time I was very much angry to find out that there was not a hot bit of food being served. This in turn lead to a rather disappointing and slightly stale Skinny Blueberry Muffin and large Caramel Macchiato. With minutes to spare and being almost the last few to board the plane Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I took our seats and awaited the last few moments in Blightly. On take-off though I felt an odd sense of emotion. Mr. Warehouse was working that Sunday so we spoke for a little whilst taxing on the runway but I felt slightly more at a loss than I did when I went to Las Vegas in March. I soon had my mind taken off of the subject as My Tweedles were catching up on some Zzz.

Landing in Corfu we were thrust straight through security whose attitude seemed as though if you had a brown book the same size as that of a passport you were through. Nevertheless I then allocated myself of the baggage collector which sounds much more important than it probably was. Soon enough our luggage was coming round and I was soon carried away with said bag and along the carousel, continuously knocking into people before someone helped me from the moving conveyor belt of death. “One down, four more to go” I thought as I tried in vain not to take out small children close to the moving river of colourful bags and boxes. As we approached the exit of the airport and boarded the transfer bus we soon had a moment to soak in the holiday for what it was. A relaxing holiday on the Greek island of Corfu. But as the bus set off and we looked at one another we soon realised that maybe our 2-star, self-catering holiday in the sunny out-of-season resort of Kavos which was far from any civilisation known to GoogleMaps was far from our normal 3-star budget break.

Trundling across the bumpy roads boarding the Ionian Sea all we witnessed from the windows was dilapidated house after desolated villa with the odd run-down corner shop and B&B. I had known that from watching the news and current affairs that the Greek economy was worse than ours back home in the UK but this was something else. I could have been looking out the window into a third world country somewhere off the coast of India or Africa. But it wasn’t. This was Greece, or an island of at least – Rich with culture, historic value and a food haven. The scenes I was being broadcast from the back of the bus was not what I anticipated even for outside the standard holiday season. Time passed and the more we passed the less optimistic my friends were being coming. I too was becoming worried.

Soon our coach stopped. We were on a dirt track. There was nothing around us but unloved buildings and homes with overgrown gardens. The Greek coach driver that spoke little or no English ushered us off the safety of the bus and instructed us down yet another dusty concrete road.

“Are you sure we are at the right place?” Miss Tweedle-Dee asked, a worried look crossing her face. The man smiled and nodded as he unloaded our bags and hoofed us in the direction he was asking us to go. And like a scene from many a Hollywood flick we stood back from the main road, if you could even call it that, and watched as our only link to life as we knew it disappeared into the distance. Mustering up all the strength we had left, Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I made our way towards what we would now call home for the next seven days.

Stepping into our apartment we were pleasantly surprised. It was tidy and livable. It was not as clean as I would have liked but given the state of my flat when I left, it was probably cleaner. The pool was a very short walk and so was the bar where Jagerbombs and Cocktails were two for a fiver. Sun-loungers were aplenty and not a German in site to nab them in the morning. In fact there was barely anyone there, a handful of elderly Brits looking for a budget break in the sun in a bid to tan their wrinkles. Bathroom was acceptable and kitchen was standard, so after we had unpacked our cases Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I took to the pool for a cocktail and a sun-bathing sesh in the late-afternoon sun.

So far our holiday has been a relaxing medley of food, chilly pool dips and lazy sun snoozes on the loungers, featuring the odd trip to the beach which is far from substandard. It reminds me very much of the odd bit of sand that you find on the edge of a lake or river bank and can hardly be called a beach at all really but still, our hotel backs onto the ‘Beach’ which is more than most of our holidays previously. And so my Greek adventure begins. Tomorrow I shall join my friends whilst we indulge in more top-up-tanning by the pool as we gaze out across the shore at mainland Greece which is closer than I expected. Holiday so far has been better than anticipated and I look forward to seeing more of what the island has to offer. Shopping and exploring as well as a few excursions is on the cards and I am excited for writing to you all next week to tell of all my comings and goings in Corfu.

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

A Greek Tragedy

Hi, 

So here I am. All moved in, definitely not unpacked and slightly exhausted still from the week I have just had. Oh, and to top it all off I have a stinking cold and have been investing in Beechams since Saturday. This flu stuff sucks! I suppose it is no surprise really since I have been run off my feet all week what with preparing for the move and all. My new abode, whilst freezing cold is much nicer than my old place and will soon be a Palace fit for a Aphrodite herself. With its angled ceilings and views over the town I can see myself being very, very happy here. But as I am sure you are all well aware, my house move is not the only thing I have been preparing for this week ...

After last week's post I went to Dad's for dinner and for once I don't think we argued. I like the fact that when we don't live under the same roof and we have our own space we seem to get along a lot better. I just wish sometimes we could have more time together. And now I have my very own flat I can have both him and his girlfriend round for dinner. Dad was able to lend me some unhelpful advice about the impending Mr. Cheese meeting and also about moving. Although struggling to save up to move had taken its toll on my finances and so I had to pluck up the courage to ask him for money to help me move. Obviously I plan on paying it back but I am sure that many of you will recognise just how hard it is to save for anything nower days, let alone to live by yourself. Wednesday was a good night out with the girls to take my mind off things, until I received a message from Mr. Cheese. He was home earlier than anticipated and could bring forward our meeting to Friday evening rather than Sunday mid-morning. Thinking that it would be better to get it over and done with I obliged and awaited Friday evening like anticipating a bullet to the head. 

Friday went well with the move, despite having to take off two doors, four handles and nearly several fingers getting my sofa into my little home. But that was the least of my worries that day, and as the time Mr. Cheese and I planned to meet grew ever closer I became sick with a near faint-rendering concoction of emotions. As the heavens opened, I witnessed him pull up in his car get out and with only a few seconds passed I was kissed passionately by the all consuming Mr. Cheese. Although taken aback I didn't pull away, but at the same time I failed to respond to his kisses in the rain. Pushing Mr. Cheese away I mentioned about going into the warmth of my old flat and so we made the journey inside. In my heart I knew, climbing the stairs, that I would not come out the same way I was going in. Sitting down on the edge of a freshly made bed we made small talk, avoiding the elephant in the room. I crossed my legs. I entwined my arms. But nothing stopped Mr. Cheese from attempting to kiss me or cuddle me. 'So much love to give and yet none of it is for me' I thought. I couldn't go on any further and as he leaned in to kiss me again I asked that all important question - "Where are you at?"

Answering only simply was the words I had heard a million times before. The same phrase that had been echoing in my mind for the past seven-months since we first met on a scorching Sunday afternoon in the summer of last year. My head spinning I struggled to take it all in. You would have thought that after knowing that this would be the case I would have been prepared for such a statement. I suppose in a sense a tiny part of me thought that it would end in a fairytale and that everything in life would finally be fitting into place. My very own Zeus. But alas this was not the case, how could it have been. Mr. Cheese did not love me, despite what he may proclaim. The words "I Love You" had been a mere phrase to appease me and not meant as I had truly hoped. His admiration for me was not a match for mine and so it had to end. And as we sat in silence, each one of us begging the other to make a move I rehearsed what I had planned for such an event as this. Cool and calm I explained the way I felt and made Mr. Cheese clear that I could not continue with whatever it was that we had without some sort of clarity. I needed black or white and all he was giving me was grey. I continued to elucidate that I could no longer be a friend either for the pure and simple reason that I love him too much to stand by and watch as he dates other girls. 

Talking continued for hours until our stomachs rumbled. Thinking logically and knowing I didn't want a take-away, Mr. Cheese and I went to dinner. Ironically we went to the same restaurant where only a few months previously we had sat lovingly across the same table from each other discussing our plans for Christmas together. As we sat down to order I enquired about his dates with the now not so talkative Miss South-Africa. Turns out she is a right do-gooder; a charity worker who went on a twatting gap yaaar (said poshly) to somewhere with mountains. The goddess herself (AKA: Miss South-Africa) has blonde hair and a slim figure, something in which I envy more than life itself. Irony would have it that she shares the same name and look as the girl Mr. Workaholic dated soon after we separated a few year earlier. Funny how life likes to take a dump on you sometimes! 

As we ate over dinner and with nothing to loose I thought I would explain the in's and out's (almost literally) to Mr. Cheese about the encounter I had with Mr. DJ. Laughing along I hoped he would seething inside as I was about Miss South-Africa, but truth be told I knew he wouldn't because he didn't love me like I love him. Placing his cutlery down I made a statement about not being able to get laid any more and missing the company of a man to which came a response about not having to give up the sex. I pretended I didn't hear as I went to the bathroom. I felt sick. Really sick. Was it the food or the conversation? I didn't know but tried to put the fact that a fortnight had already passed to the back of my mind. Returning to the table I asked for the rest of my meal to be take-away. Leaving the restaurant I inclined myself for the goodbye's that were to come.

Pulling up outside my new bachelor pad, Mr. Cheese accompanied me inside helping with a few things left over from moving. Settling down some boxes in the hall-way I gave his the grand tour of my forty-foot-squared home. tour over we soon settled down and as I opened a bottle of wine I asked what Mr. Cheese's curfew was. Eleven. "Well it was just gone eleven when we left the restaurant so you should probably get moving" I said as I glugged myself a glass of Rose, not offering any to my commitment-phobe guest. I was stunned by the arrogance of the answer being that it was eleven the following morning, implying that apparently Mr. Cheese was staying the night. Of course I didn't want him to stay over, knowing that we would be sharing a bed again, but the cheekiness halted any anger in its tracks, replacing it with a smirk and a naughty grin. Safe to say that the first night in my new flat was one I wont forget. At least the sofa has been christened properly now. 

The sofa wasn't the only thing to get christened in the first twenty-four-hours as the following morning I awoke after an awful nights sleep to being violently sick, vomiting into my aluminium sink. Classy. Attending to my side I knew that Mr. Cheese felt helpless and in a round about way I wondered why it was now that he wanted to look after me knowing that he would not be a permanent figure as I had hoped. But as the sun rose and streamed through my window, the magnitude of the situation hit my dearest Mr. Cheese like a bolt from the gods themselves. I lay in bed beside Mr. Cheese feeling the shadow of this flu taking hold and as I struggled to hold down sips of water I took notice to what he had to say. I listened intently as I saw his beautiful blue eyes fill up with tears and nearly choking myself I couldn't help but want to hold him close and promise it would be OK, but I couldn't. Not now. Not ever. It is just a sad fact that Mr. Cheese couldn't see the potential that such a small risk and such an easy gamble would reap such benefits and rewards for a proper relationship between us and just how much more happier it could have made us.

Eventually we dragged ourselves from the warm sheets to get dressed and say our farewells. Standing there in my hall-way, dark and cold, tears began to spill over Mr. Cheese's cheeks and down his soft, warm face. Almost as if watching from afar Mr. Cheese began a prose about how his family and friends had fallen in love with me as much as he had and that I was a 'keeper'. Mr. Cheese spoke of his promise to his elderly Grandpa and Grandma over Christmas whilst I was back with my own family. He had made a promised them that he would never let me go and always keep me close, making me a full-time girlfriend soon. But as Mr. Cheese's voice split and cracked he croaked about letting them all down. As he fell into me, sobbing I couldn't help but shed a silent tear myself for what could have been. Wiping my flushed cheeks as we pulled away I ushered him to go knowing that him staying any longer would just prolong the pain and suffering. And so he left. I watched as he got in his car to leave, driving off slowly down the road. As soon as he left I crumbled like a marble statue knowing that I may never see him again. It hurt. It hurt a lot. And whilst I know it's over between Mr. Cheese and I, it seems I cant help but wish for a little blue car to appear outside the window of my Palace.

After that I had no motivation to do anything around the flat. I needed desperately to unpack but was lethargic and the cold wasn't helping. Knowing that Miss Tweedle-Dumb was at a conference I dialled Miss Tweedle-Dee's number, praying that for once she would pick-up. And she did. After a long conversation, playing out again the scenes from the night before I started to feel much better and through her natural power of persuasion, Miss Tweedle-Dee convinced me to go out Saturday night with some friends. So I did. And what a night I had. In fact the rest of the weekend was a success after the initial stumble. Saturday night I went to a local gig back home with some old friends who are getting married in the spring (I am doing their photography - Daunting I know!). But also at the gig was an unexpected face of Mr. DJ! Thankfully he was busy working the gig and band so didn't have much time to talk. He did however make the point of saying hello and it was almost, just almost, as if that ram-shackled night in the back of his tiny car didn't happen at all. Buying him a drink we looked at each other as if to acknowledge the fact that we both still remembered the night clearly. Turns out that Mr. DJ is single and I think I may have a certain future Bride and Groom trying to set us up. Whether it goes anywhere or not is another matter but quite frankly I only have a craving for Cheese.

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx