Sophie and Emma ( not their real names), are petsitters who don't have the Budda Belly of one who's inexplicably stopped petsitting to write a book. They're coming for coffee this afternoon, 2pm.
That leaves four hours to decontaminate the hovel. And bake a Battenberg. Or maybe not. Last time they came Sophie's Bodened baby found a long, black hair in her fairy cake. It wasn't the fairy's. Dear old Archie Bubbles Bum-Bum, my aged Jack Russell x Black Lab - someone lent his dad an orange crate - sheds enough hair to knit a sweater from. I might do that and sell it on Esty.
Then there's the loo. We won't go there - teenage sons you know. I'm hoping Sophie and Emma won't go there either. Maybe if I give them weeny, weeny cups of coffee, they won't need a wee wee and risk life long trauma?
'We've been worrying about you?' Sophie said on the phone last week, 'stuck in your funny little shed, scribbling away.'
I tried to explain that I am happy in my funny little shed and that at the moment I am wrestling with my protagonist's lurve interest whom the reader has to empathise with at first, then hate, then feel sorry for.
It needs my full attention see.
In return I got the tilted head and sympathtic smile.
'You have to get out and about and meet people.'
No I don't. I've spent the last fifty years getting out and meeting people and now I want to stay in and not meet people. I want to stay in my shed and make people up. People who don't want to come round and eat my cake which would last at least six hours with me at the bottom of the garden, in the funny little shed.
I said all this to my sister last night and she said I wasn't to flatter myself they were coming to see me, it was because of the baby. Apparently people with babies are always desperate to 'get out' even if it means going to visit hormonal old bags and eat hairy cakes.
I found the martial chart here. Tried to find an email address for the blogger (Even slatterns should have manners), but I couldn't so if it's you, forgive me and thank you.
Right pass me the body armour, I'm off to tackle the loo.
I'm sitting in Starbucks laughing at this, and people are giving me looks. I'm supposed to be writing, but seem to be surfing... I'd rescue some of those lovely spiders from the shed and put them in some cakes. They might not come back and bother you!
ReplyDeleteThat's a helluva image of those 2 dogs you've given me! Still laughing, people moving away...
Laughing out loud at: "I've spent the last fifty years getting out and meeting people and now I want to stay in and not meet people. I want to stay in my shed and make people up."
ReplyDeleteGood for you. (Hope the loo wasn't too horrible.)
Well, as you know, I can fully understand you wanting to spend time away from people and scribbling in your shed. Why do people think we need visitors?
ReplyDeleteBest of luck with the loo.
"visit hormonal old bags and eat hairy cakes" is the best line I've read for yonks... tittering terribly here. Understand completely about the loo - now that I am poor, I have to share a bathroom with two teen boys. Ugh. Etc.
ReplyDeleteI have to share a bathroom with a lodger and four cats. It's not pleasant. Everything in my house is hairy I'm afraid.
ReplyDeleteThat post was really funny. I want a shed of my own!!
ReplyDeleteI think some little Archie fur mittens would do very well on Etsy.
ReplyDelete(I failed the Marital Rating Chart with nil point. Hormonal Old Bags rule:-)
Denise - Oh, spider cakes, that would be cool. I could make up a spell to go with it.
ReplyDeleteJJ - The loo was grim but sadly, their rooms are grimmer.
Debs - Perhaps we should put signs up: 'Entry at Your Own Risk' with a picture of a writer brandishing a dagger?
Jen- I'm sure it's all character building/distroying:)
Helen - but at least the cats don't talk at you or do they?
Lily - Your wish is my command. The wicked witch of the south here, will make you a spell and some of Denise's spider cakes for your shed.
Lane - You will have the first pair. There may be the odd tick or two included as an extra.
A cake would last you six hours! What's wrong with you woman?? It wouldn't last me six minutes, even with hair in.
ReplyDeleteAnd don't talk to me about toilets and teenage sons -or their bedrooms (I'm convinced our house smells of wee and it 'ain't me.)
Hope the visit went smoothly :o)
"hairy cakes" - LOL!
ReplyDeleteMy brother told me today that I'm a recluse because I refused to attend a certain event. I'm okay with that label.
Word verif: hexted! Ooh, the spell's working!
I sympathise with EVERYTHING here. The loo (I have four younger boys!), the wanting to hang out with the people in your head rather than the real kind.
ReplyDeleteDon't bother decontaminating - you must discourage these random visits, no?
So difficilt when you're trying to write isnt it? People just dont understand. I do so sympathise... what's the matter with people who dont like dog hairs in their cakes? Pah.... from another hormonal old bag xxx
ReplyDelete