Here are his cases. Packed and ready to go.
The way these cases have been packed are testament to the fact that this man is not, and never could be, gay. I know I’m making sweeping generalisations but what the hell…fuck off… its my birthday…… but that packing was sooooooo done by a straight man left alone to pack.
But it’s Ok because Henry has already moved in.
And don’t think I’m using him to hoover with. I’m going to spend the next few days developing outrageous masturbation techniques which are so cool they should be patented.
This is why I originally bought a ‘Dirt Devil’.
Don’t be fooled like I was. Dirt Devil was useless in every way and I have put up with him for long enough.
In a few days it will be my birthday and I will be 33.
I was on the phone to Cupcake the other day when the subject of my birthday came up.
Cupcake: What are you doing for your birthday?
Me: Going to the dentist. But mark my words, next year I’m going to be reckless.
Cupcake: That’s what you said last year.
Me: I know! But I didn’t realise that I’d be pregnant again. But this time next year
I’m going to be topless on a bar somewhere. (I paused to imagine the scene and had second thoughts about whether my non-perky breasts are a thing to be exhibited) …on second thoughts, maybe not that exactly…….but something wild.
I’m not even joking about the dentist thing. My appointment is at 3.40.
Talking of phone conversations I’m on the phone to Victoria Sponge (the one who gave birth to the BIIIIIG baby), when she says to me with immense, glowing, satisfaction……
“He slept for three hours last night.”
In a flash, it all came back to me. Inside my head I was shouting to myself
“She’s fucking grateful for that! Do you hear her? This is what is about to happen to you. AGAIN! All because you are an irresponsible little whore!”
“I’m so pleased for you.” I say to her, whilst the woman with tourettes is still abusing me in my head.
Anyway, enough of the pregnancy rant. Repeat the mantra
“A baby is a blessing….a baby is a blessing…. a baby is a blessing…”
Did I mention that Bushman is leaving me?
Well, he’s going to Jamaica for two weeks to sort out some family stuff. I’m not going because I am too fat and I don’t have any money. All I ask is that he comes home before the baby is born. Unlike last time I gave birth when he was in New York. But that’s an outrageous story for another time.
Anyway. If you feel at all sorry for me you can do one of two things. Leave me a comment, especially if you have any wild ideas about what I can do for my 34th birthday next year. Or, alternatively you can vote for me at the MAD awards. Somebody has nominated me….I can’t remember in which category. Is that bad? Anyway, I’m about as likely to win as I am to be photographed by the Sartorialist and I’m not even sure if I want any of the prizes, but its just nice to feel loved, isn’t it?
P.S Bushman just told me that he was kissed on the cheek by Russell Brand's father last night. No lie.
P.P.S Bushman just told me that he had a dream last night that the house was messy and the toilet was full of shit. I'm not so sure it was a dream but he says that it's lucky to dream about shit, apparently it means were coming into money.