Poor Mr T he doesn’t know what to expect when he comes home; Mata Hari, Coco the Clown or the psychotic lover from Fatal Attraction with a carving knife in hand and rabbit stew on the table. Fortunately he’s a good natured soul, although I am slightly worried about that windowless room he's been constructing behind that false wall. I hope it’s just going to be a walk in wardrobe but to be honest even with my large selection of clothes ( small butt, medium butt and big butt size) I don’t need one. Hmmm... I'd better check he’s not been making amendments to the life insurance policy.
Now can a man really appreciate what it must be like for us gals on this emotional rollercoaster? I don’t know but I suppose maybe if they were having a really, really bad day…
Say for example you were some big hot shot city slicker and you’ve got an important meeting….
Perhaps the day starts bad because after a night of over indulgence on mussels, champagne and strawberries you nick yourself shaving. Blast! You have to stick on one of those delightful blobs of toilet roll to halt the bleeding; just when you wanted to look really suave.
Then you get to your office and find that your watch has stopped and everyone is already there waiting impatiently. Miss Tightfanny your aged spinster secretary is looking over her tortoiseshell glasses at your feet; you have two odd socks on. Oh no! Maybe no one will notice?
You remind yourself to ring that cold heart woman in Human Resources and tell her to fire Miss Tightfanny. How is it that you always get old relics and that young upstart Mr Hamster in the adjoining office gets the blonde bombshell? And what’s more how does he get away with wearing red pants over his trousers, a cape and a mask to work... Perhaps because the CEO has a fetish for little furry creatures which although remarkably unhealthy has resulted in him cornering the market in bling wear for the fashion conscious small mammal.
Taking your place at the head of the table, you commence the meeting; everyone is looking at you. So that’s nothing unusual; you’re the boss but there’s a few sneaky grins. You look down; there’s toothpaste on your $40 tie. No!! This CANNOT be happening.
“I want to buy chocolate!” you say, banging your cartridge pen down on the table. The nib cracks and spurts ink over your $100 shirt. Holy mackerel! What else can go wrong?
In your anxiety, you grab your rubber therapy ball and start to squeeze it; it pops out of your hand and plops down the front of Miss Tightfanny’s blouse as she is pouring you some more of that sludge coffee that is making your head spin. Without thinking, you stick your hand down her blouse to retrieve it, she screams and drops the coffee down your pants.
Everyone is laughing at you. Oh Lord you're as red as a big red thingy. What about your reputation? Still, think positively now.. so longs as you make big bucks on the chocolate deal today everything will be all right; its the profit that counts.
“BUY CHOCOLATE!” You yell and the team scramble to the door and shoot off to the share dealing floor.
You make your way to the Gentlemen’s rest room to get cleaned up. You sponge your tie and pants down and grimace in the mirror. OH NO!! Not only have you left that blob of loo roll on your chin but there’s a piece of lettuce stuck between your teeth from that BLT sandwich you consumed on the way to the office. It CANNOT get ANY worse.
Your bladder is bursting with all that disgusting coffee, just time for the necessaries before the markets close. But…but… the zip won’t budge on your pants. Damn it! You have no choice but to take your pants down altogether. Suddenly you hear a swish behind you, a quick sideways glance in the mirror and you see the CEO... just as you’ve got your pants bunched round your ankles. The absolute horror causes you to trip over your pants and head butt the latrine. The CEO looks distinctly perturbed and hoisting his hamster, with a diamond encrusted collar, under his arm he leaves in a hurry.
You make your way upstairs disconsolate. Still…there’s always the chocolate deal….
Miss Tightfanny is waiting for you in your office;
“I’m sorry Mr Intrepid we’ve lost on the chocolate shares. An anonymous buyer outbid you.”
NO! NO! NO!
It is the worst day of your life!
As you’re cursing, the telephone rings…..
“Hello Mr Intrepid.” It’s the seductive, sexy voice of a sophisticated English woman. Your heart is beating with anticipation. Who can this mysterious woman be? A sweat breaks out on your forehead, your heart palpitates; maybe the day is going to work out better than planned....
“It’s Miss Jayne here. I’m afraid Mr Intrepid……. the chocolate is ALL MINE.”
No, you've been outwitted by a delectable English woman; it can't be true; weren't they meant to be dull on the other side of the pond? You realise you been throughly whipped and...
.... hold your head in despair and sob uncontrollably.....*************************
Yep, I think that’s what it how a guy would feel with PMS. What do you think ladies?
PS As you can see I've been fiddling around with all the applications the last few days and I've finally worked out how do that link thingy. Hey, it wasn't that hard after all; I just couldn't locate the right page to tell me how. Anyway, I hope to give all of you folks whose blogs I have enjoyed reading over the last few months a proper mention in the coming week. In the meantime, keep well, keep happy and keep recycling!
Copyright Jane Turley 2008
Miss Jane..... Or should I start referring to you as Natasha - the dastardly double agent spy? Most readers may not know what's going on here but it's clear to me. You're trying to seduce us with your stories and tantalize us with your prose. When you've finally coaxed us aboard your wacky emotional roller coaster ride, (you'll keep us cycling between laughing hysterically and balling our eyes out) and when you feel you've cleverly distracted us enough, you'll secretly corner the market onReplyDelete
That's when you'll buy a small Dutch island in the Caribbean and retire to write romance novels. You'll spend each day on the beach relaxing, reading, and writing. At night, you'll sip brandy listening to the crashing waves while some guy named "Wendel" rubs your feet and feeds you truffles. That's what happens to double agents that get away! Right?
On a serious note, I must admit I'm almost as warped as you are! (Smile) Because I laughed out loud at this story. Especially the part where I "hold my head in despair and sob uncontrollably" That was looney! And I deserve everything you dished out. This was a clever story whipped up in the mind of a funny person! I don't mind getting caught in the John with my pants down in the name of humor. I can tell you had a blast writing this. Thanks for allowing me to play along as a lead character.
I like the new look and feel of your blog. You've been doing some housekeeping I see. New colors, new pictures, and even some new tunes. Feels quite lovely. I'm not sure what the secret is to conquering the PMS, and pre-menopause combination but I bet laughter and understanding from loved ones will help. Be patient with your hubby. We're (men) cut from a different mold and may not understand exactly what you're going through. If all else fails, drink heavily and eat some really good chocolate!
Yes, you're right Mr I; I have in mind total world domination of chocolate production. In fact it may possibly be the next plot for my meeting with Mr Bond!ReplyDelete
Oooh a Carribean island sounds heavenly and having me little tootsies massaged..how heavenly! Pity about the corns and blisters for Wendel but you know I'm sure he's made of strong stuff... Do they have excellent fridges in the carribean? I am slightly concerned the chocolate might melt. Not that I mind drinking it in liquid form but it's a tad messy and I'd have to get Wendel, my manservant, to wash it off all the time. Also one can overdose on it somewhat quicker and when Miss Jane overdoses on choccy the whole world knows!
Now then. I will have you know that the pants and cape give me that "mysterious" look. And I find productivity goes through the roof every time I bend over in my tight lycra. As for the arse kissing, I have a nice office dont I? It isnt about what you know, it is about who you do...know.ReplyDelete
As for this PM...thingie. Yeah we know what it is like. We live with you! We walk on egg shells not knowing if to laugh, cry or leg it like hell when you come in the room with those watery eyes. So as we dont know which one to pick, we just say "Get over it already". OK, so that doenst always go down well, but they are your hormones...sort em out or dammit I will climb in your body and have a damn good chat with them myself! Caring arent we!
Now. Where is my collar. I need a pay rise.
So Master Sy, you reckon you're gonna climb inside my body do you? Sounds like an episode of Doctor Who. It could be a very, very dangerous situation though Sy which could leave you permanently scarred because once you enter my body through the head you will find the most enormous brain; at least 20 times the size of a man's brain and then you will know what has been rumored but never proven before; women are vastly superior to men!ReplyDelete
Oh it's no good Master Sy I will never be normal; these hormones don't help but I fear Mrs T has always been somewhat afflicted in this way but it has certainly become worse since they let me out.
Don't put the collar on too tight Sy, I won't be able to hear you speak and that would be most displeasing.(And don't bend over too frequently either those new bling suspenders might snap and give you whiplash!)
Natasha? Wendel? There's got to be a book in here somewhere!ReplyDelete
Nothing v. original to say but it seems too cheap to keep turning up at the 'Witty Ways' party, enjoying the company and then sloping off like some invisible person ... Dontcha just love parties where you can turn up in your pyjamas and, when you want to go home, there you are? It greatly appeals to the slob in me!!
A pyjama party sounds just up my street FF mum. I'd go in my flannete PJs, my extra long towelling dressing gown and those big furry slippers. 'Cos I reckon if I wore my babydoll nightie I might arrested for indecent exposure and pubic affrayReplyDelete
Sorry, I meant public affray.
Thanks for dropping in; a comment is always appreciated by Mrs T; 'cos you know talking with the world is actually the best bit.
See you at the school gates tomorrow mornin'; I'll be wearing my PJs... wear yours and we can go hang out at the pole dancing club. I hear their after some new talent and I reckon we'd make a great novelty act. Men always like a duo and I reckon we'd be hot stuff in those PJs; get us a heap of cash.
PS..have your PJs got Mickey Mouse on? Mine have got Scobby Doo. No shaggy though; it's a tough life.
No shaggy? Is that a double-entendre - or is that just my dirty mind? Julian Clary/Graham Norton would have trouble keeping up with me!ReplyDelete
I want the world to know that my PJs are exceedingly boring and that (it gets worse) I have not been the same since my much-loved red cotton jersey ones fell to pieces. Of course, I wouldn't wear them to the pole-dancing club audition. You could be 'Natasha' and I could be - what was that Cheeky Girl called?!