The deadliest, jelliest site ever. Brought to you by Niamh Shaw

Posts tagged ‘loser’

The Sign of the ‘L’

As I left the playground yesterday, I was carrying Saoirse while simultaneously performing a gravel eradication exercise in the region of her shoe. This couldn’t wait until we got to the car because: “NO MUMMY DERE’S STONES IN MY SHOES AND IT’S ON MY FOOTS GRAAARAAARGH!”

In short: it was essential the gravel be removed AT ONCE, or it might burrow through her skin and travel via her bloodstream to embed itself in her brain and then there’d be some fairly face-melting roaring – and it’s in the interest of the wider community to avoid that.

Anyway, there I was floundering across the playground through knee-deep gravel, Saoirse’s shoe in one hand and herself just about in the other when BLAM! it was like someone hit me in the face with a bat.

I’d walked into a monkey-bar at head-height.

“MUMMY! Did you bonka your head, MUMMEEE?” shrieked Saoirse solicitously.

And then, “MUMMY! YOU DROPPED MY SHOE, MUMMY!”

She was lucky I didn’t drop her too while I stumbled around fighting off stars and a large flock of assorted birds.

It was only when I’d reached the car and felt blood sliding down my face that I realised I’d split the skin across the bridge of my nose. I’m not entirely sure – but the injuries (two) suggest – that I collected the monkey-bar with my forehead and instinctively jerked my head back and up in order to wallop my nose OFF THE SAME BAR.

Husband came home and found me lying on the sofa with a bag of peas on my face.

“MUMMY BONKAD HER HEAD DADDY!” announced Saoirse in the manner of an MC introducing the next act.

After he found out what happened, Husband’s main concern was: “Did you feel like a muppet?”

For a while I thought I’d broken my nose, but after I realised it was just the motherfucker of all headaches I felt much better (and the Panadol helped). There’s a touch of periorbital discolouration . . . but that could be the result of less than six hours of sleep last night. Pretty standard around these parts.

Advertisements

More from the archives

But you would not believe how much shite I had to wade through to uncover these nuggets. It appears that, during my teenage years, my parents were engaged in a conspiracy to ruin my life. I think it best not declassify this information during my lifetime.

Holiday in Wales, aged 16 – 1988
I was severely depressed, and headed outside to have a good yowl and perhaps throw myself under a truck

All my love to your parents and your brother (well, I don’t really know him)

I’ve thrown in a few postcards for you, and a duck brooch

If you see Sarah give her my love, I suppose

UCD, aged 18 – 24 November 1990
<Unintentionally and regrettably hilarious. Confirmation that I was a Loser> I know four or five second years, and two fifth years actually started talking to me on Friday! Believe it or not! They’re selling me books

PS – Did you see ‘Ghost’? Shit, wasn’t it

PPS – Hope everything is going well. I was too busy waffling about myself to ask earlier in the letter

From UL, aged 19 – 5 November 1991
PS – Those things after my name are kisses, not swastikas

Tag Cloud