Sealed Compartment of Doom!

Hubby and I had a little incident the other day, and for the life of me,  I’m not sure how I managed to not share it with you.

During our multiple years of marriage, every single time I leap into the car to drop off a child, pick up some milk, etc, hubby always asks if he should come with me.  And without fail, I say NO!  I like the bit of time on my own in the car and often the thought of closing the house up and alarming it for a quick trip seems pointless.

Anyway, this particular day – it was Easter I remember now – I surprised him, actually myself, and said sure, come along.  I could see instant glee in his face.  It was probably similar to a prisoner being let out of solitary confinement.

So of we go, me zooming along, hubby holding on for dear life.  You know the pose, spread-eagled and whistling through his teeth as I take the corner at what he considers speed.  As I park, hubby said he would sit tight until I got back, after all my estimation of how long I’d be gone was around 30 seconds.  I slam the car door, take the keys, press the lock button and off I go.

The shop entrance I need is closed, I walk back, pass the car, go to the correct entrance and all is well in the world

About 5 minutes later I’m still in the shop, and I can hear a car alarm going off.  Shame, I think, some poor sole is not going to be charmed to come back to find his car screaming.  I think nothing more and wait for the phone. I realize I need money and go back to the car to empty hubby’s wallet.  As I get closer I see him kneeling up on the front seat, grabbing at the door handles, all of them, trying to get out.  The windows are slightly steamed and I’m starting to wonder what the heck he is doing.

As I get closer, I see panic on his face.  And typically I’m thinking to myself, bloody idiot, why didn’t he press the open button on the door to get out, or better still, open the damn window.

Let’s just say, he was not a happy man.  And yes, oxygen was wearing thin, in what had become a sealed compartment of doom.  I of course tell him in so many words that he is silly (rather stronger I have to admit)  and that I don’t believe for one minute that I had locked him in or that he had pressed every  button in the car in an attempt to get out.

Anyway to cut a long story short, I did lock him in an no he could not open the car doors or a window.  He was, almost as we speak, no more!

It would seem that my new car has a safety system that when locked from the outside will not allow any exit from any unfortunate person left behind.

Suffice to say, he no longer asks if he should come with me…

Perhaps we should change the new car for this safer option

“Something old, something new”

This is my first attempt at Sidey’s themes.

Well the first thing that comes to mind is the something old, something new for the Bride to be.  So off I went to see if I could find the origins of this little poem.  It differed from Victorian, to Scottish, to medieval Briton,  but I was surprised to find along the way an additional ‘sixpence in your shoe’ line.

Something old, something new
Something borrowed, something blue
And a silver sixpence in her shoe

While the sixpence represents hope and show of wealth, it certainly can’t be comfortable if it shifts it’s way between your toes.  I can just see legions of brides hobbling down the aisle and falling dramatically into their groom’s arms.

But I digress, and now return to my own  something old and something new.

Well, wedding number one was a quick register office function with no traditions.  But wedding number two,  well here I made up for it all and had the dress and the sparkle and a stunning venue.  On this special day the new was my dress, and  my old was a pearly necklace my grandmother wore for her 21st birthday photo.  As my dress had a halter neckline, I wrapped them around my wrist and wore them as a bracelet and it was very, very  special for me.  Then at wedding number 3….gotcha! there hasn’t been a number 3, just checking to see if you are still reading.

Bought some new Bra’s!

Not being too blessed in the old mammary region, I’ve kind of always ended up buying Bra’s that border on the “I’m not really needed” category. You know the type, pretty boring, no under wires, sadder than sad, and downright depressing for the wearer.

 And so finally after feeling pretty inadequate and extremely miserable for far too long, I decided to venture into Bra shopping with a vengeance, coinciding this with a trip to the UK – why the UK? heaven knows. My parents were told in no uncertain terms that apart from visiting them I would be hitting the Bra shop.  Needless to say they found this very amusing and shared this with my sisters, who equally found this to be amusing and had a bit of giggle at my expense. Hmpf, lucky for them blood is thicker than water…

 Anyway I landed and within 24 hours found myself surrounded with bras of every conceivable shape and form. It was scary people, really bloody scary. Racks and racks of gorgeous and luxurious fabrics, in cup sizes I could almost live in. Honestly, some of them could have shielded me from the rain in one cup and carried my shopping in the other.

 As for the colours, they were absolutely stunning. But coming from the days of “only BAD girls” show their bra straps and even “BADDER” girls wear colorful bras that will show beneath your top, I had a hard time picking up anything other than white and beige. I walked up and down, backwards and forwards and finally I delved in with a new found feeling of who gives a damn, I’m gonna try them all on, colours and all.

 The only hesitation I had being the push-up bras.  Yes they would have done wonders for the old cleavage, but they would most certainly have left me looking as if I’d just had a boob-job. It was a shame really, because they were amazing. No longer the rigid, heavily wired contraptions of the past, today’s push-up bit – wonderfully descriptive I know – is deliciously squashy but rather large and most probably extremely comfortable to wear.

 To cut a long story short, I tried on many and came out with eight beautiful Bras that do wonders for my ego and will take pride of place in my luggage on the way home.  Heaven help any baggage handlers who knick them out of my case or damage them in anyway.  Law suit, hell you won’t know what’s hit you matey!

 EIGHT, my husband yelled down the phone at me in disbelief. Yes darling a humble eight in a variety of shapes and colours. And might I add, if you keep yelling EIGHT at me at the beginning of every sentence you might well be wearing the old ones as ear muffs when I land…