First, of all I am praying Hagar doesn’t decide to come home for lunch! House equals Armageddon. I am at home with my little menace today, and she is just a motorised, chaos creator hell bent on household destruction. She has already consumed her body-weight in sand, painted my sink and her face with pink nail varnish, handed me her poo out of her nappy and emptied out the kitchen cupboards. I am totally behind on my domestic admin – washing, ironing and general husbandry (why is it called that?) and so with all that in mind, I have decided to avoid the drudgery of housewife incarceration and write a blog post instead! I am sure that Hagar will agree that this is excellent use of my time.
Word on the street is the wives have been revolting and that the RAF husbands who thought they had got away with it with have now been usurped into bringing their other halves to tonight’s dining in night. It’s a wife pandemic; you invite one of the little buggers and then we all start cluck, cluck, cluck, clucking and the next thing you know there is an uprising in the henhouse and those poor henpecked husbands sheepishly agree for an easy life. ‘Yes, dear, of course you can come.’ Hagar didn’t relent quite so gracefully. Vive la pussy whipping.
For them it’s always better to be badly behaved without the tut-tut tutting of ‘er indoors – it’s just more relaxing generally. Not for Hagar though, he dreams of my disapproval where I can be tut-tut tutting at his shenanigans, instead of joining in, or even worse, causing him to start tut-tut tutting at mine. Vegemitevix just asked me on the dog and bone – what high jinx did I have in store for tonight? Or was I planning to be well behaved. The thing is it’s not that pre-meditated. I always plan to be well behaved. I never think that I am going to be naughty. I always think good things but it just doesn’t work out like that. There are three important factors that always lead to unscheduled naughtiness:
1.) How much I drink
2.) If I am dared to do anything
3.) How bored I am
The first point is self-explanatory. The second is that I really find it difficult to not rise to the bait especially if it’s really funny and challenging. e.g; ‘ I bet you can’t get to the bar and back without being noticed by the PMC.’ The third is the worst from a Hagar perspective – boredom – often caused by particularly long, dry speeches from long, dry dullards. After 50 minutes of utter dullness, I did once heckle ‘oh come on, please shut the f*ck up and move on. I am losing the will to live’ or something along those lines. Maybe I have dining-in night tourettes. I think it’s partly that I find the intensity of the rules very suffocating and it makes me want to break free in the most in-appropriate way. If someone tells me not do something it just makes me want to do it more – even if I didn’t even want to do it the first place.
‘DON’T PRESS THE BUTTON!’ aaaargh!!!!
Yes, I know it’s very immature but I don’t do it on purpose.
I have cobbled together an outfit which is probably the equivalent of something Lady Ga Ga would wear in Mess terms – the dress is generally fairly conservative. It isn’t really but it’s a unique one off creation that I assembled myself, mainly because I didn’t want to buy anything and I wanted a new outfit. But it is within mess dress rules.
The outfit is an Anne Summers Corset, with leggings, all wrapped in shocking pink transparent chiffon wrap with killer heals (see picture above – my feet in said heels, which incidentally are from Matalan) and tight elasticated belt. I shall post a picture tomorrow with the post event analysis. There is nothing I like better than creating an evening do outfit from Matalan because you can guarantee that no-one else will be wearing it unlike Monsoon, and I can do the whole outfit, inc shoes and handbag for sub a £100.
The good, or bad news, is that they have hired some cocktail mechanics to whip some molotov specials for AFTER dinner. It really doesn’t bode well in the behaviour stakes and not to mention, I have that tingly, fuzzy, thank f*ck it’s Friday let’s get battered feeling that I am trying to ignore. Must go and tackle the husbandry (why is it called that?) before we dine in. Have a good one, TTFN.