Skip to main content

Fatal attraction

The day has finally come. The writing is on the wall. Yup, that's right; I'm trying to ditch my utterly revolting, terribly unfashionable and social pariah-inducing love of cigarettes.

People who don't smoke don't really get it. "Just give up," they say. (Just give up?? That's a bit like telling a small child never to eat sweets again. Or for Posh Spice to go easy on the pouting.)

Then, even though they've never inhaled a smidgen of nicotine in their smug little lives, they feel it appropriate to lecture me at length on the many different and apparently miraculous ways by which their Uncle Ted gave up his 60-a-day B&H habit, like eating mung beans harvested by virgins during a full moon or some other utter tosh.

So annoying it actually makes me want to smoke.

Comments

Anonymous said…
That was me!!! You poor thing...and my daughter would tell me "Mommy you know that is bad for your health" and then there's the guilt of being a "bad example" to your kid...ugh the list goes on and on...it's been 3 months for me now...and it DOES get better but boy did I think I was going to kill someone for a while there...

Popular posts from this blog

The Grim Reaper

Firstborn is obsessed with death. It started with the odd comment, such as; "Mummy, what happens when you die?" OK, I thought, I was expecting this at some point, what a cute little curious brain she has. So I trotted out all the cosy Heaven stuff and left out all the things that could worry her, such as worms and bones and holes in the ground. This went down pretty well, although somehow Firstborn made the jump from my view of Heaven (filled with love, joy, always warm, never rains, has a huge discount designer shoe outlet and I never have to pay my Visa bill) to her own view of Heaven; a wonderous place where small girls don't have to eat their vegetables before they're allowed pudding, and where Barbie dolls grow on trees. Anyway, I digress. Last week Firstborn started shouting "Kill! Kill!" in a bloodthirsty tone while bashing her hithero-beloved teddy against the wall. This was topped by her purposely flushing her favourite My Little Pony down the loo. ...

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to

A friend recently emailed me to say that her big memory of her stay with us last year is that she had a great birthday, one of the few where she didn't 'act like a spoiled grumpy princess'. She tried to give me all the credit but as I explained to her, it was all down to having a fellow female organising the birthday fun rather than leaving it to her partner. Her email got me thinking about birthdays and how very different men and women are in their attitudes to celebrating special occasions. It also had me thinking about my birthday two years ago when I threw a major tantrum in the Carrefour car-park after being told that we were off to do the weekly shop, kids in tow, which was simply the final straw at the end of a very uninspiring day. In contrast, my birthday last year was rather lovely (a morning on my own in a spa with no mobile coverage, pure selfish bliss). This year - in a few short months, eek! - I'll be hitting the grand old age of 38. This will be my las...