What'll I Do, Without The Woo?

Well, the last 24 hours have been pretty dispiriting, and I hate being dispirited. My credit card statement arrived (or rather, I finally got up the nerve to open it) and immediately felt like someone had stabbed me. How could I have spent so much? I spent most of last night trying to reattach the tags convincingly to the banana dress so I could perhaps pretend to the madam-shop owner that I hadn’t worn it. Aagh.
And then last night I went out for a Chinese with Jo, and just as we were getting into a lovely conversation I was suddenly sure I could see Glenn outside the window on the street, looking in at me.(He even had a T-shirt on with: ‘In case of zombie attack, follow me’ written on it, which was even MORE disturbing). I got up and went outside to check, but he wasn’t there. And Jasmine says he went off festivalling the day before yesterday to the West Country and she doesn’t expect him back for ages. So obviously I’m starting to have hallucinations. Does that stuff they sprinkle on Chinese food give you them?
And finally, this morning when I went to log on to my favourite blog, The Woo, I was told I was not welcome. It’s a private site now, for her friends only.(And I’m not considered to be one, sadly.) How will I manage without my daily shot of inspiration? Oh, and it’s raining, and I’ve just washed my hair and forgotten my umbrella.
If I was a computer I’d switch myself off and start again..

Swan - thong

The Michael thing was cancelled at the last minute as he had to go to America. Sigh.
We were talking at chocolate-time about how thongs are long out of date (I brought up the topic, because I’d discovered the Woo doesn’t wear them.) It’s the era of the hipster brief. I said I felt sad about this, because I’m so fond of thongs. Jo said she once had a Labradoodle that had a THING about her thongs, and used to search through the laundry basket for them and then eat them. (They came out the other end whole – but of course unusable.) Jo’s point of view was that they are dirty, stupid things. You can never keep them totally spotless, and they cut into you. They’re stressful to wear, too.
This is all true (and I suppose if my thongs were regularly recycled through a dog, I might feel the same), but I still adore the way there’s no panty-line, the way they look your legs so great, the way they look so pretty in the shop (and in a drawer), how small, and delicate and flimsy they are, as if you’re this beautiful little dolly that the female stereotype says you have to be.
‘Yes, but have you ever tried looking in a changing-room mirror, the ones with the gross back view, when you’re wearing one?’ Jo said, biting into a chocolate macaroon. She didn’t mean it nastily. Us ladies of the cakey build do have probs with back-view mirrors. But I always refuse to look at those views. In my mind I always look like that woman in Crocodile Dundee from behind, when wearing a thong. (In the scene where the crocodile tries to bite off her head.)

The Woo Diet Begins...

Right. I’ve just got details of the Woo’s diet, and I’m going to follow it. The essentials are: ‘Don’t keep food in the house’ ‘Don’t buy anything interesting for yourself to eat’. The Woo says that, for instance, last night she had a tablespoonful of potato salad and some rye bread.
Possibly I could just eat cat-food. Old people do that, don’t they? And they’re thin.
Am just going to buy potato salad and rye bread from now on.
The truly excellent thing about the Woo Diet is that you can eat anything you like while you’re out. So I shall be going out. A lot.