Last night, finally, and while at dinner with my lovely friend M, I was at last paid a visit by the long-overdue men in red coats. They had Aunt Flo with them, and since the painters were in, they were on their way to celebrate Rag Week.
You get, I’m sure, my drift.
So in conclusion – woohoo! I’d been feeling pretty chilled since failing a certain test two weeks ago, but as actual physical proof of me not being knocked up by the Frenchman was still to materialise, I was starting to wonder what was going on and – horror of horrors – contemplating taking another test. But now I don’t have to, as absolutely definitely nothing is alive in there. Grand! Completely worth the bad night’s sleep I had last night, the resultant tiredness and the fact that my belly feels like a barrage balloon.
In another and rather less welcome re-appearance, while I was wending my cheery way home, I got another text from The Marine, having quite pointedly neglected to answer the one he sent in the morning:
Hey, So .... have you any plans for the weekend, Miss K?
Yeah. Washing my f***ing hair, mate, that’s what I’m doing this weekend.
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