Oh just f**k off everyone. I don’t give a flying hoot that it’s sunny outside, nor do I care that I ‘smell a bit dodgy’.
Let me sit here and rot in my fluorescent pink owl pyjamas, a colour in complete contrast to my black mood.
I’m fully aware that you are ‘only being nice’ and ‘trying to look after me’ but I am currently battling to keep my inner bitch contained. I know the silent treatment is killing you all but I have woken up in a mood rougher than a badgers arse, quite frankly I want to take my happy pink pyjamas off and throw them out the bloody window whilst screaming expletives at anyone who will listen. Not only will the perfect school mums walking past risk getting a pair of stinky, sweaty, porridge stained pyjamas on their head, they may even catch a glimpse of a saggy boob, not both, as without a bra they are never in the same place at once.
I feel so sorry for my girls, gone is the fun mum who danced with them in the kitchen last night. (I do a superb rendition of ‘Gangnam Style)
Now they have a miserable moose of a mother. No, I don’t want to hear about Pikachu or Squirtle, I’d frankly prefer to shit in my hands and clap.
Everything is irritating me, I feel like a pressure cooker that is about to explode. The shower is dripping loudly… I feel like it’s goading me, ‘Use me you fat cow’
Sam has just asked if I would like a cup of tea, my response: ‘Unless it’s got a ‘G’ and a ‘&’ in front of it, then no’
It’s only 8:40 am.