Mummyfried

The following has been created after weaving together a few stories and extending the truth a little. Once upon a time, not so long ago it seems for the daughters who are currently tending to their emotional scars, a traditional European couple who were parents to these wonderful daughters set about making plans for their respective futures. They created a list of requirements and put to action a plan they thought would guarantee that their daughters would marry a man of their parents’ choice. While the list lacked some fundamental requirements in ensuring a happy marriage, it was agreed by both husband and wife that compatibility and sexual attraction could be learnt and therefore not essential to appear on the list. Further, if he scored a  4 out of 10 or lower in the looks department, the future husband should be able to buy his way via a third party (a cosmetic surgeon) to gain an above average mark. If the prospective husband understandably did not want surg...

Please don’t confuse me for somebody with a big ego. Ok, the truth is – I admit to having one, it’s like a trained monkey I try to keep it under control but we all know that training a monkey is not only cruel but unnatural. 'Leave the monkey alone' say my animal rights friends. While not healthy I admit I sort of have the same approach with my ego. I try to keep it under control, when it does go native I experience many cringe moments and often find myself apologising to people…a character fault I am not proud of…. Now, back to my stalker story.  I have more than one.  Stalker one: the one I don’t love. I worked for an organisation that was quick to shift responsibility and blame (but no authority) to those that were keen to move up the corporate ladder (also known as 'management training).  I was often tasked with moving people on when the organisation had drained them of their expertise, dedication and these people were screaming for recognition by way...

So it’s 1.50 am and I should have been asleep hours ago. When I put the kids to sleep at 7, I squeeze in an hour nap too - to allow me the energy to get final things done for the next day.  Now I can’t sleep.  A packet of crisps and a chocolate biscuit (or 5) later – my eyes are wide open. I can hear Mr. Right (though today he should be Mr Lucky) snoring and I feel like shoving a pillow over his face. It’s not the snoring that bothers me.  It’s the fact that he can sleep through my insomnia, the girls crying, the alarm, the neighbor’s washing machine, and pretty much anything (and because I haven't done it yet is why he is Mr Lucky).    I look in the mirror and see that my eyebrows are threatening an invasion in the space above my nose.   I don’t want the Frida Kahlo look but can’t be bothered to do anything about it. My eyebrows threaten to get up and walk away. I f only they would walk around my face, pick up the hairs above my lip and won...