Last week was one of those weeks. On Wednesday evening I walked into a plate glass window when trying to enter an Express Supermarket, a Tweeting and walking #fail.
This was the final humiliation in the long term discord with this particular branch that has mostly involved various self service check out woes, a £10 note into the coupons slot, £1 coin dropped into the scanner (it took a screwdriver to retrieve it). The cheese that scanned as photographic paper (twice the price), a parenting fail in front of queue of impatient shoppers while I ‘removed item’ only to turn for a second and have my 3 year old repeatedly scan a packet of hairbos. It is supposed to be an Express branch – a convenience store!
On Wednesday I picked my son up from nursery and for the second day running he said “I didn’t play with anyone, I played on my own” in a sad voice and I wanted to gnaw my own arm off.
To finish the week
nicely, I put the car in for a service and had one of those “Oh” ‘voice goes up an octave’ moments when the bill varied considerably from what I’d hoped.
I don’t know much about Ballet, but there always seems to be a scene which involves the ballerina walking slowly in a pointy feet way across the stage arms in a lovely oval shape towards for the floor, head down, depicting her sadness, (violins) that was me at the end of last week (possibly a little over dramatic, obviously). In the previous weeks I have been pirouetting around the bloggershere and by chance and danced a little dance in a comment box which led me to the attention of my Prince Charming, my Rudolph Nureyev, because at the end of last week Entree stage left in well fitting tights (nice calves) Ian, in a commanding manner and with beautiful posture and long strides offers me a little something in return to for a mention of his lovely Appliances Online on my blog (kettle drums and symbols). What is a ballerina to do? Many twirly pirouettes, arms pointed sky wards a grand plie and grand jete (jumpy stuff) at which point I (probably) land in the Orchestra pit, leaving Ian to take in the rapturous applause and collect roses flung by a thrilled audience, whilst giving the front few rows a good view of his dual fuel range and nice tights.
Fling a rose Ian’s way by leaving a comment below and you never know, he may be dancing the cha-cha-cha with you in his next incarnation.