I’ve felt like throwing up almost every day, my stomach a labyrinth of fear about what fresh hell the forthcoming day might bring.
Category: That’s Life
There is one ad that brings me out in a sweat, I hate it so much, and if I can’t find the remote quickly enough to mute it, I have to run to my bathroom and shout very loudly to drown out the sound. Yes, you know who you are, Audi!
When we next met – for dinner – he greeted me with a kiss so hard, it severed my lower lip. When I tried to eat my fish and chips, it was hard to see where the ketchup began and the blood ended.
Alex Comfort’s The Joy of Sex looked like one long advert for a ‘past sell by date’ Greggs sausage roll.
Apparently, we “wealth-hoarding boomers” are living comfortable lives in homes we own, while the struggling younger generation can’t get on the housing ladder and are barely surviving on low incomes, bless ’em.
I’ll relish my Sunday roast, sitting alone, as other people’s brats run riot in the restaurant, or older children sit glued to their iPhones, wishing they could be anywhere else.
Bloody penises. Seriously. Bloody effing penises. How much easier my life would have been without them. Why did I have to be born straight?
I never took to Big Jane, an enormous doll with tarantula eyelashes that my parents bought for a small fortune. I loathed her, and the only time she came out of her cupboard was when the church needed her to play baby Jesus in the nativity plays.
A supposedly romantic dinner in Paris turned sour when the man opposite said: ‘I think you’re the funniest, smartest and most interesting woman I’ve ever met – I just don’t fancy you.’ Talk about an Eiffel of dreams come crashing down.
I identified as a four-year-old and absolutely smashed it in the local primary school’s egg and spoon race.