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| Still needs restaining... |
I have excellent neighbours in my street.
We invited them all over on New Year’s Day to celebrate and christen the new deck (see above).
“What games have you been playing on your computer, mate?” Burt, who lives across the road, asked Scotto. “The noises and explosions are wild. I can hear them clear as day from my place.”
I sat up rigidly, shame-faced and self-conscious.
The noises emanating from our house weren’t from Scotto’s computer. They originated from me, binge watching Game of Thrones at an ear-splitting volume for hours on end.
Whilst this is a slothful and indulgent habit to engage in, I am now paying the price.
Remember how I told you I am very deaf in one ear because the little hairs in my ear canal are damaged?
Well I think I have further damaged them because now whenever I hear a loud noise my brain vibrates. It’s as if I’ve switched dimensions for a few seconds. This is not ideal when I have a neurotic Chihuahua who constantly breaks out in uncontrollable, high-pitched barking attacks. I’m currently walking around with a cotton ball in my ear to tone down the clang of plates clattering when I empty the dishwasher.
It could be wax… but I suppose I should go to the doctor.
Apart from that little anomaly, I feel in perfect health and have been assiduously walking around the mountain every single day of my holidays (except Boxing Day when I was too hungover).
This last week, I’ve been walking with my nutty but endearing neighbour, Mrs Bunny.
Mrs Bunny and I, are both desperate to rid ourselves of the three spare tyres around our midriffs.
Mrs Bunny calls hers, ‘the triplets’.
I haven’t named mine because I don’t want them to get too attached to me.
After five weeks of gruelling uphill treks, the rolls of fat are tenaciously resisting departure and I measured my waist with a tape measure yesterday and I’m still obese, according to the Internet.
Mrs Bunny and I have a great time on our uphill ambles talking about lots of things including how much we hate our stomachs, hips, thighs… and pretty much every centimetre of ourselves, actually.
I find the walks very uplifting.
“At least we haven’t said anything negative about ourselves this morning,” puffed Mrs Bunny yesterday.
I sat up rigidly, shame-faced and self-conscious.
The noises emanating from our house weren’t from Scotto’s computer. They originated from me, binge watching Game of Thrones at an ear-splitting volume for hours on end.
Whilst this is a slothful and indulgent habit to engage in, I am now paying the price.
Remember how I told you I am very deaf in one ear because the little hairs in my ear canal are damaged?
Well I think I have further damaged them because now whenever I hear a loud noise my brain vibrates. It’s as if I’ve switched dimensions for a few seconds. This is not ideal when I have a neurotic Chihuahua who constantly breaks out in uncontrollable, high-pitched barking attacks. I’m currently walking around with a cotton ball in my ear to tone down the clang of plates clattering when I empty the dishwasher.
It could be wax… but I suppose I should go to the doctor.
Apart from that little anomaly, I feel in perfect health and have been assiduously walking around the mountain every single day of my holidays (except Boxing Day when I was too hungover).
This last week, I’ve been walking with my nutty but endearing neighbour, Mrs Bunny.
Mrs Bunny and I, are both desperate to rid ourselves of the three spare tyres around our midriffs.
Mrs Bunny calls hers, ‘the triplets’.
I haven’t named mine because I don’t want them to get too attached to me.
After five weeks of gruelling uphill treks, the rolls of fat are tenaciously resisting departure and I measured my waist with a tape measure yesterday and I’m still obese, according to the Internet.
Mrs Bunny and I have a great time on our uphill ambles talking about lots of things including how much we hate our stomachs, hips, thighs… and pretty much every centimetre of ourselves, actually.
I find the walks very uplifting.
“At least we haven’t said anything negative about ourselves this morning,” puffed Mrs Bunny yesterday.
“I hate my bat wings,” I huffed back, wiping the sweat out of my eyes.
“Oh God, me too! I HATE my arms!” agreed Mrs Bunny vehemently.
“I never wear singlets even if it’s 40 degrees,” I panted. “I don’t care about the people who say we should just let it all hang out. My arms are an abomination to society and should NEVER be out in public.”
“I ALWAYS cover my arms!” gasped Mrs Bunny. “I’m totally ashamed of the hideous flabby things. They’re a disgrace to womankind.”
We both nodded in a solemn acceptance of our non-singlet wearing futures.
We both nodded in a solemn acceptance of our non-singlet wearing futures.
We try to outdo each other with shocking stories regarding our dismal lack of grooming and time-wasting habits.
“Some days I just stay dressed in my active wear all day and binge watch House of Cards,” Mrs Bunny blurted out one day, with a particular expression on her face that invited outrage and disgust.
“Some days I just stay dressed in my active wear all day and binge watch House of Cards,” Mrs Bunny blurted out one day, with a particular expression on her face that invited outrage and disgust.
“Some days I go to the IGA with coffee breath, without brushing my hair from the day before, and wearing a stained t-shirt that I bought in 1998, then go home and look up conspiracy theories on Youtube all day,” I scoffed back.
“I ate KFC for lunch after our walk yesterday,” Mrs Bunny countered, eyeing me competitively.
“I drank a whole bottle of wine last night and it was a Wednesday,” I trumped back at her.
"I've got short, stumpy legs!" Mrs Bunny retaliated.
"So do I!" I replied. "I'm only taller than you because of my weirdly long torso and unattractively elongated neck!"
I’m here to tell you; we absolutely inspire each other on our walks.
That's Girl Power...
I’m here to tell you; we absolutely inspire each other on our walks.
That's Girl Power...
