Mrs Smyth Made This: FFS Friday....er Saturday.

Saturday, August 25, 2012

FFS Friday....er Saturday.

I'm late with this, I know.
Yesterday, this finally happened.

A tiler about to beautify the bathroom.

After standing us up 2 weeks ago, and then three times this week, The Tiler arrived. I attempted to maintain a polite yet cool demeanour:
"Would you like a cup of tea? No? Okay then. I'll be in here."
but he was so gosh-darned charming. When I joked that I'd be so happy to see this renovation done as I was feeling a bit too pregnant for all this he said in his Polish accent
"Oh, but you look so happy. So pregnant and happy." and kept popping his head out saying "Don't worry, be happy!" I felt compelled to make him cups of coffee and offer Tim Tams, which he politely ~~rightfully~~ refused. FFS.
I then went into town to buy a dress ~~the size of Texas~~ to cover my ~~shame~~ bump for my brother's wedding in two weeks, choose and order new glasses and do my tax. I also meant to buy curtain rails, get new bipper remotes for the car keys and exchange a pair of M's shoes. Turns out my bump protested most of the way and after retiring to my bed at 6.30pm with hot packs I still can't walk particularly well. FFS.
A big shout out goes to the lady at Laura Ashley whom upon my asking what they might have told me 'to just look around' and then determined 'we don't have anything to accommodate you.' Way to ensure repeat business. FFS.
There are only ten weeks (MAX) until #2 rocks up. I am not prepared. FFS.
I was stuck behind a car with 'Sponsored by Centrelink' and Transformers stickers on the way out of the Valley yesterday. This car drove erratically above the 100km/hr speed limit, dipping off to the left hand side randomly. I kept my distance until we hit the double lane and it was safe to overtake. As I overtook I thought it was also a P-plater, limited to 80km/hr. This was confirmed when they overtook me immediately. I was travelling at 100km/hr. I wished valiantly for a police car, but there was none. FFS.
I know how old I sound, complaining about the young-uns driving unsafely. FFS.
Whilst preparing my tax after dinner one night this week I tore my filing system apart looking for a receipt that I'd sworn I'd taken out of my purse and put somewhere safe. Two hours later I had a heck of a mess to clean and I found the receipt. In my purse. FFS.
My accountant laughed at me repeatedly whilst doing my tax because of the different types of income I produce through my ABN. I'm sorry graphic design, sewing and music performance are so hilarious to you. FFS.