Mummyfried

Below are key messages I would like to deliver to management... That's right, to Mummyfried (the boss of the boss:  my own alter ego)  the big boss upstairs, the vertically challenged bosses I gave birth to, the bosses at the paid place of employment:  To Mummyfried:  Stop the 60 -70 working week and dreams about really being a tall, blonde, athletically thin, dedicated houseproud yummy mummy and fabulous friend. It's not working. Take a stand. Get to it and sort it out. (Stop being a slave to the system, eating, and start exercising! the rest will follow). To the ankle-biter bosses: The days of empty threats are over. You fail to pick up, I promise to throw out!  My feet deserve a lego free walking path environment!  To the boss upstairs. Give me a break. Please? Like, a real one? A lottery ticket, a wealthy uncle who wants to hand it all over, a warm hug, and some hot chocolate? Please? Don't carry me leaving footprints in the sand, if I fail to act on th...

This week I threw caution to the wind and let myself go. I felt free, limitless, unchained and alive. I averaged on about three mini snickers bars a day. I breathed out and let my stomach just hang. I challenged myself to think on my feet, I forced myself to decide within three minutes, what to wear to work each morning. I let nature take over in the hair (facial and on head) and nail department. I worked back - very late, concentrating on work, rather then wondering how the girls and Mr Lucky were coping without me. There was no guilt. I let the house rest, there were no daily after work whirlwind, guerrilla style tidy up drills. While on my lunch break, rushing to get another snickers bar, I spotted my reflection in a shop window. This unkept, tummy hanging over belt, jeans too long for chosen shoes, helmet haired, dangerously close to having a mono brow person had gone too far. I forgot the snickers, returned to the office with my tummy sucked in. I tied my helme...