And the imperfections mount…

Of course, it’s not like I didn’t know I’m imperfect. But knowing I have imperfections and being told I have them, are two different things. I think.

The first knock came yesterday morning, and I’ll admit I’m mortified with this one. I took the children shopping, usually a traumatic experience in itself, but it really wasn’t too bad and I managed to get around the supermarket without shouting at or threatening anyone. (I’m telling you this, because I believe it was because of this that I ‘switched off’. You see you’re going to read the next bit and think I’m dim – and at that precise moment I was being dim, but it wasn’t my fault, it was because…because…the children had lulled my senses!?!)

We came out with me pushing the trolley, R at my side and the three others dancing around, which wasn’t a safety issue because we were parked in the Mother & Child bay, just outside the shop. In fact so close to the shop, that the little ones ducked under the parking sign leaving me to sigh that there wasn’t enough room to get the trolley through the gap between the sign and the car, to reach the car door. And rather than take the trolley around and into the road I figured I’d squeeze through and R could pass the bags to me. Except when I told R my idea, he gave me a funny look.

Then, after I’d squished my body through and stood with arms held out (ready for the bags), he started laughing. “What’s on earth’s the matter with you?” I asked.

He just raised his eyebrows and rolled the trolley forward.

Which he was able to do. Because it was easily lower than the sign.

How stupid did I feel? How stupid do I feel? Very. I’ve always expected this boy to end up smarter than me, but it’s not right for a child to know it before he turns twelve. He’s still chuckling about it, and keeps muttering, “Under!” with a pushing motion and a cheeky grin whenever he catches my eye.

Damn, I feel dim.

The next thing REALLY isn’t my fault! This one’s inherited (I think?) And I’ve known about since I scared the girls at boarding school silly, as they thought it was creepy. My finger joints are odd. It could be that they’re double jointed, but I’ve never really figured what that means, so I’ll stick with calling them odd. I can keep my middle joint straight, whilst bending the end ones.

Here’s what made the girls squeal:



They're not really so bad. Are they?

Anyway, to the point. Before bed last night R was showing me his guitar playing skills, and I got interested and asked if I could have a go. Never tried strumming on a guitar before and I had no idea you had to press down so hard! It flippin’ hurts after a minute or two!

Nevertheless, I persisted as he showed me different cords. Till we got to one particular cord (I think it was A), and I had to press down on a string with my ring finger, and at the same time you’re supposed to curl (?) your fingers so that they’re not interrupting with other strings.

Well I couldn’t do it. The joint in my ring finger cannot carry ANY weight when applying pressure in the curled position – instead it pops and springs down. Like this: (And that ISN’T R’s guitar! I borrowed the girls’ for the picture – couldn’t ask R, as he’s ask why…)




Is that funny? I didn’t really think so, but I guess maybe to an eleven year old, as he thinks it’s hilarious! He went and told everyone in the house, like it was some big joke! It’s hardly my fault.

So it seems I’m dim, and have an odd body. Could it get worse?

YES!

In a miraculously empty kitchen, the BH and I shared a quick kiss and he generously offered to ravage me. Being all for a good ravaging, I said yes thinking he meant later. But he didn’t, and so after a moment I stepped away with a giggle and reminded him there were too many little people still about.

He didn’t argue or pout, he just smiled and said, “You’ll never make a sex bomb!”

I’ll never make a sex bomb.

Now I know I have a shy nature and have never been an overly forward woman but, I’ll never make a sex bomb? This is what my HUSBAND thinks?!!!

The BH saw my face and immediately wrapped his arms around me. (Which was probably wise, as I might not ever make a sex bomb, but I could probably learn to slap. Holding me tight and trying to swallow his laughter, he said he didn’t mean anything by it. He didn’t say a lot more, except that he wasn’t saying more, because he reckoned if he said anything, it would be with both feet, and so figured it’d be best to stay quiet.

Indeed.

So yesterday I discovered: I’m dim, odd, and no sex bomb (and never to be a sex bomb!). None of these things are a shock, but being reminded of them by my loved ones, doesn’t make for the best of days.

But now I’ve told my secrets, I have to know – what would a sex bomb have done differently?