Minutes and Dream Boats

What a day. Monkey is turning 11 in November but has the attitude of a disgruntled 16-yearold, so taking him shopping was never going to be a smooth ride. What did we need? Baskets for Hendrix’s toys and stuff, some school shirts for aforementioned Monkey, fresh yeast from the Swedish shop in Barnes for baking cinnamon buns, a printer and nail polish, maybe a new mascara if we were to pass somewhere stocking Benefit make-up. OMG. Aforementioned attitude set in even before we’d left, and by the time we’d got into the car I was losing my mind. Seriously – as much as I love my child (and no one could love anyone or anything more than I love this Monkey of mine), I was ready to ask for a refund. F*ck me, apparently it gets worse once those little buggers are ACTUAL teenagers.

Luckily, Monkey turned the charm back on, and I soon forgot about wanting to put him on ebay.

The printer was the real gem and has already proved incredibly useful when it comes to the writing – it’s so much easier to go over drafts when you’re marking up actual pages, as opposed to scrolling up and down a screen. Also, it sort of forced me to print off all those things I have to give an overhaul and face what I need to do. All good, really. No school shirts, no mascara and no Hendrix boxes, but Rome wasn’t built in one day. At least we got the yeast, but I can’t face baking along with making dinner so it’ll just have to wait until tomorrow.

Part of the reason I want to bake a few batches of beautiful cinnamon bun heaven is that tomorrow – apparently – is International Cinnamon Bun Day, and also B’s brother and family are with us next week and I’d like to treat them to something nice, beyone taking them around seeing stuff they still haven’t ticked off on their London-list. Oh, and I like stuffing my face with those things too. I think during our weekend in Italy, I piled on a couple of pounds, so that sure as hell won’t help but I was always better when I’m cuddly so hey-ho.

Jeez, as we speak Monkey’s dad (the ex-husband) rang to make arrangements for tomorrow. What a modern, broken family we truly are. We’re heading over to east London to watch Monkey play football, so B and I will be parking at the ex’s place, get Monkey changed and after that we’re all heading over to the football ground together, happily chatting about the weather no doubt. Eesh! Awkward’r’us. To be fair, it could be a lot worse. My divorce was, compared with B’s, pretty amicable, which means I have a functioning (if not overly friendly) relationship with my son’s father, as much of a tw*t I think he is. We are able to be nice to each other around Monkey (always were) and as much as we may have disliked each other over the years we have always communicated when it’s been about him. Thank God I conducted myself in a way I can now live with and that now benefits Monkey.

B’s sitting across from me here at the dining table, and I know he probably feels neglected, hoping these 20 minutes will be up soon and my attention will once again be all focused on him. It’s hard, actually. Did I mention B is f*cking HOT? It takes all that I have to keep on typing when this dream boat is right THERE. I’d just need to get up, walk a few steps and then slide down into his lap and shower him with kisses. That’s exactly what I’ll do when these bloody minutes are up! OK, I cheated – I just checked – 2.45 to go. Just over two minutes until I will kiss those delicious lips, hug that insanely gorgeous man tightly and tell him how much I love him. F*ck me, I’m so f*cking lucky.

Hendrix is sniffing around my feet, probably wanting to bite me but finally knows she’s not to do that. Only one walk today by B and Monkey, compared with the three walks per day I take her on, so she’s probably full of excess energy. Perhaps I’ll throw a ball with her when the rugby’s on. Alright. Timer says 30 seconds, so that’s me done!

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