Naughty Letters to Ms. Mac

Countless noble souls (and many fluffy kittens) sacrificed their lives during the making of this blog. We think you will agree they were worth it.

Friday, November 13, 2009

Why I Hate Fridays

Antipo [typing away, hard at work in her study]

Mr Grumpy Blackheart [still in pyjamas at 12:30]: Where's the rabbit?

Antipo [typing]: Under the bed in Popo's room.

Mr Grumpy Blackheart [still in pyjamas at 12:31]: I hope she's not doing poops or chewing the electric cables.

Antipo [typing]: Of course not, she is a pedigree, well brought up young lady, not like those rough rabbits from the housing estate.

Mr Grumpy Blackheart [still in pyjamas at 12:33]: You are supposed to be watching her when she's not in her cage.

Antipo [typing]: I'm working.

Mr Grumpy Blackheart [still in pyjamas at 12:35]: Well shut Popo's bedroom door so the rabbit can't go in there.

Antipo [STOPS typing]: I had all the bedroom doors shut yesterday so Fluffy would have to stay with me and you scolded me for not letting the warm air circulate, which makes the bedrooms cold and Popo might catch pneumonatic swine flu and tuberculosis and DIE and then I would be sorry!

Mr Grumpy Blackheart [still in pyjamas at 12:38]: But today it's warm and sunny so you can shut the bedroom doors.

Antipo [shouting, not typing]: GET OUT OF MY FACE! I'm WORKING!

Fuck You Mr Grumpy Blackheart!

Thursday morning. Mr Grumpy Blackheart has a day's leave. I get up at 6:20 as I have done every day this year, to get son to the station on time for his train. I then take daughter to school at 8 am, briefly see Mr Grumpy Blackheart is up and getting his breakfast, and go jogging in the forest. When I arrive back at the house an hour later, I go into our bedroom and see he has gone back to bed. Oops! I close the door gently and tiptoe away, thinking I will have my shower later, as the bathroom is just next to our bedroom and I don’t want to make any noise.

My morning progresses satisfactorily: important writing, proofreading and emailing. I briefly visit Mr Blackheart in the basement where he is fixing the punctured tyre on his mountain bike, then get back to work in my study. At midday I hear Mr Blackheart making kitcheny noises, which means he is getting his lunch, but I don’t want to stop while I’m in the middle of a creative streak, so I keep working. At around two o’clock I succumb to hunger and skip downstairs in a good mood to get my lunch. I know Mr Blackheart often has an afternoon nap on weekends and holidays, but I foolishly assume that would not be the case today, as he has already spent the morning in bed. Wrong!

Later in the day he complains heavily that he couldn’t sleep this afternoon because of all the noise I made in the kitchen (microwave pinging, cupboard doors being opened and closed, my conversation with the rabbit). I sweetly tell him that if he would care to inform me when he is taking a nap I will be happy to sit noiselessy in a corner with my hands folded silently, but because he had a grasse matinée, I assumed he would not require further slumber today. I also inform him that I deliberately did not use the bathroom in the morning because I knew he was in bed, even though I am dying to take a shower. I cannot refrain from adding that some of us get up early, take care of children, do exercise, work, housework, and do not actually have time for lie-ins and afternoon naps. Some of us pretend to be young, bouncy and energetic, even if we are not, in order to avoid sliding into a state of lethargic depression.

Friday morning. Mr Grumpy Blackheart’s regular day off work (he works a four day week). He stays in bed until 11 am. I get the children out of the house by 8 am, go jogging, come home, have my shower, make my breakfast (ping! slam!) and talk loudly to Fluffy with lots of joyous exclamations.

Fuck you Mr Grumpy Blackheart!

I have a life!

(Note: He is now up at 11:20 and is vacuuming the lounge, even though I did it yesterday, because apparently I didn't use the correct attachment for rugs.)

Monday, November 09, 2009

The Joy of Bumsex

Dearest Ms. Mac,

Can you explain to me the joy of anal sex for girls, because really, it's like doing a big poo in reverse, isn't it?

Oh how I long to be able to discuss sexual pratices and techniques with sophistication and elegance, like the grown ups do. But I cannot. Not without giggling and sniggering.

Do you remember that day when we exchanged our deepest, darkest intimate secrets, and I had to put a sofa cushion between our heads?


Love and stuff,


Sunday, November 08, 2009

Do Men Know?

Dearest Ms. Mac,

Do you think men know that sometimes, for example on a Sunday morning when you are looking foward to a long lie-in but the spouse has other ideas, and while he’s pumping away you are thinking ‘I must get the chicken breasts out early to finish thawing before lunch, and I will fry the courgettes and diced pumpkin in a separate pan from the chicken curry or else the little one won’t eat it, and I hope I’ve got enough apples to make a really big crumble to last for two days, and oh God I wish he’d hurry up because I need to get to the supermarket early to avoid the crowds and I don’t even want to go there but I urgently need to buy that magic correcting fluid to restore to whiteness my son’s chef’s uniform which I accidentally stained pink in the laundry yesterday because I so foolishly added to the wash that bright pink sheet (which I originally dyed fuschia to match Ms. Mac’s blog and so the Bloggers’ Pick-Knickers would find us easily in Paris four years ago), and he needs the uniform clean and ironed by 7 am tomorrow.’?

I bet they have no idea.

Thursday, November 05, 2009

The Dress

Fluff called me from Melbourne! Her wedding is 11 months away but she has already bought a dress and chosen a matching venue. The story of how she found the dress is so deliciously Fluff.

She intended to simply buy a beautiful frock, as it is her second marriage, she’s 43 and she supposed she would have a low-key wedding this time around. (Here I thought ‘But Fluff doesn’t know the meaning of low-key!’). Additionally, she wanted a dress she could wear again on future occasions. On a whim she and her daughter stopped in at a bridal boutique one day and tried on bridal gowns just for fun, with no serious retail intentions. However, the gowns all contained remarkable corsetry, intricate boning and structures that firmed her curves, plumped up her splendours, and felt simply divine.

Fluff had no intention of forking out hundreds of dollars on a made-to-measure gown, but decided she would have to buy a corset to wear under a pretty frock. However, the effect was not as shimmery and intoxicating. She was hooked, and began researching corsetry. Fluff is an extremely gifted seamstress and felt sure she could make her own corset and dress. Sadly the procedure proved, after hours of research and visiting corsetry suppliers, to be lengthy and costly, and frankly too much bother.

During the course of her research she came across a website specialising in RED wedding gowns. That sparked off a new longing in the sartorial hemisphere of Fluff’s lovely brain, the part that goes Ping! when it sees satin and shantung and lustrous reflets and she went back for another round of trying on bridal gowns in the boutiques.

One weekend, near her fiancé’s weekend cottage in a small town, she came across the perfect RED dress and bought it. The hardest thing is not being able to wear it for a whole year. The Dress is being stored at her mother’s house, safely out of temptation’s way.

She subsequently found a venue that will set off The Dress to its best advantage. Her choice of marriage celebrant will surely be sympathetic to The Dress. All that remains is to invite guests who will flatter The Dress.

And what of ‘a dress she could wear again on future occasions’? In true Fluff style, she will wear The Dress to dinners, picnics and PTA meetings, and she will bedazzle the bejesus out of everyone else!