Innercitywoman's Blog

  • 11:22:09 am on May 22, 2010 | 0
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    For ordinary folk like me, the sources of my sleepless nights are things like the bills. The ever increasing size of my behind and worrying my self sleepless wondering how many times my son will be mugged before he reaches the tender age of ten. In my world, everyday, except Saturdays, is like Dancing on Ice doing multiple triple toe loops and looking something akin to Worzel Gummidge.

    For other folk on a Saturday, their CHIEF concern, their ONLY concern in life, is whether or not their nine year old sons football team, will win… their…. cup…Final!

    Love my son dearly, but Saturday’s for me is when I begin to look something like a human being. No school run, no blooming homework and if I’ve been organised enough the night before – no housework either. My make up’s on, I’ve wrestled into my Spanx and the curling irons have transformed me and the Medusa inspired mop on my head, into a picture worthy of a Sotheby’s’ auction (okay, slight exaggeration, but you get my gist).

     So naturally, in between those near goal moments, I love to have a good ole natter with the parents’ at the touch line. Only problem is, the Parents don’t wanna talk with me!

    Let me explain. The parents, who live this charmed existence, can’t speak! For their bulging, about- to-explode hearts, are being kicked around by fourteen tiny pairs of feet. So, the very last thing on their minds, is having a natter with Hot Totty Ingrid.

    Getting Your Groove Back Tip:

    The volcanic ash cloud of doom descended upon Norbury, as our team, the Eagles, with a 3-0 lost to the Colts was unable to fly on the most important day of their lives. But all is not lost. Forever equipped for such disasters, my sons’ Dad triumphantly produces a case of beer from the boot of his car. This’ll cheer everyone up, he thought. But nothing appears more difficult to swallow than a looser’s beer. Unlike a winner’s beer, which glides down the throat like velvet, a looser’s beer feels like it’s pierced with metal spikes and cascades down the throat like a hedgehog! Try as we might, the Parents, whose spirit ended at the shrill of the final whistle, look as though they’re on death row,

    So I, who so loves winning, is as cool as a cookie and the parents wonder why. So I share my view on the game of life.  

    I line the ball up and give it the very best shot I have then let the rhythm of life take over. I trust, that the ball will fall where it was supposed to fall at that moment in time and in the meantime, I let my hair down, learn the lesson and give thanks for the wonderful things I do have.

    And that includes, my ever growing, gloriously huge behind.

    Check out the Getting Your Groove Back Fortnightly Column in the South London Press, Pulse Section and the Getting Your Groove Back Chat Show on Friday between 1-2 pm and Wednesday at 10pm


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