Sunday, 10 June 2012

Bring out your dead!

What's been happening on Planet Bob of late? Well, last week was half term, and after our trip to Crich (not Cr-itch) we had a fairly sedate week. Until Friday, when I noticed The Daughter had a few tiny spots on her back that she wouldn't stop faffing with. On Saturday we got her out of bed to find she was riddled. The Pox had struck!! I ran straight downstairs to paint a big red cross on the front door and text the family and put them on Red Alert. At first she was very excited, and insisted I count her spots (nearly 60, rising to several million over the weekend) but since then - as the spots have spread to inside her ears, on her lips, right next to her eyes, on her scalp and all over her 'bits' - her excitement has waned somewhat and the fun has all but gone. I'm willing The Boychild to get it so it's over and done with, and have put in place CEO (Compulsory Embracing Orders) barking "Hug your brother!" at her in the hope her germs will spread. Coincedentally, I had a text from the Mum of one of The Daughters schoolfriends this morning. We shall call him 'E'. Apparently 'E' has chickenpox, and could I look after him for a bit tomorrow while Mum pops into work briefly? I was just in the middle of replying to said text when I bumped into 'E' and his Mum in Asda. Was it wrong that I was almost proud The Daughter had more spots than him? Nothing brings out competitiveness more than illness, and I made a mental note to give her an extra big hug for being the spottiest little urchin. Just before tea there was a knock at the door and on the doorstep stood 'E', wanting to know if The Daughter could go out to play. There then followed a brief exchange, whereby The Daughter pulled up her t-shirt to proudly display her pustules. 'E' followed suit, proclaiming "I've got more than you!", to which The Daughter trumped his efforts by proceeding to yank down her jeans and pants right there in the hallway. 'E's mouth dropped open, and he ran down the driveway, no doubt in a state of shock to tell his Mum he'd seen a girls bum. What an introduction to the world of women!

This week has also been the week where I have embarked upon a new exercise regime. My hour-every-second-day at the gym had kind of plateaud and I wasn't really noticing the benefits anymore. So I started a programme called the 30 Day Shred, having read a few snippets about it via friends on Facebook. Mainly about how much their arses were killing and how it'd nearly made them sick. My kinda workout!! Whilst waiting for the DVD to arrive I have been using videos posted on YouTube and bouncing about in front of the laptop (how very glamourous, I know) with the curtains shut so the pervy neighbour doesn't drop dead of a heart attack. Now, I consider myself to be pretty fit already but Christ on a bike!! Doing this on the days I don't go to the gym is literally crippling me! Going upstairs is ok, but coming downstairs I feel like a cow, my legs refuse to bend and all you can hear is me chuntering "Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow" and then "For f*cks sake!" with relief as I get to the bottom. Sitting down to wee involves me holding onto the sink and lowering myself tentatively down onto the seat as my leg muscles pop like fireworks. But as Jillian Michael's keeps telling me from my netbook screen, "The ones that hurt are the ones that work!". Which is fine for her, with her bum like a shelf and abs like a plaited loaf. So the house is like something from 'The Walking Dead' at the minute - with The Daughter looking like a zombie and me walking like one. It should be back to school tomorrow, but the spotty one will be at home joined by the not-quite-so-spotty 'E', and me with my useless legs. Honestly, you couldn't make this stuff up.

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