I want the
life of Mrs Jones, my Friday night dream. She has got rid of her lazy arse
husband, snogs her son’s oh-so-gorgeous mate (Billy’s eyes are to die for) and
even has one of the Dads from the school gates going gaga over her. Okay, so
the Dad is a total bell-end but he’s handsome and he fancies Mrs Jones. She’s skinny, youthful and attractive and
she’s 41. I would love to get some male attention, preferably from my husband,
but if not him, anyone! As long as it’s
a red blooded male and at least a little bit hot that’s all that matters. I am
craving romance.
Maybe botox
and liposuction will help. Blue skies and sunshine would be nice. SAD syndrome
is not attractive. Gloomy and dull is not sexy and my mood is matching the
weather.
I have fun
at the Emirates Stadium watching the Arsenal. How I used to crave a kid to take
during my baron years as a goner. I was
a lone Arsenal fan during the nineties and noughties. I would stand next to a
random child and sing football songs hoping nobody would notice that I was a
dribbly-billy-no-mates. All fellow
Gooner buddies had long since grown up and found other interests. Yet my
passion for red and white from my childhood days just never went way. That was
until my own red haired beauty, Charlotte
arrived in the world.
Well, my
passion for Arsenal is back and I even found it touching that the result on
Saturday was 1 nil to the Arsenal.
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