All A Little Bit Much [sigh]

Thursday

Am most definitely feeling the social effects of becoming a pregnant person. Apart from the fact that all I really want is to stay home and make the house look nicer (which reduces me to tears as I can't face the enormity of it and don't know where to start - can't decide if it's the hormones, the clutter everywhere or terminal untidiness), I can't face looking in the mirror at my rapidly expanding waistline and diminishing wardrobe of credit crunched drabness (the untrimmed bush and legs don't help but thankfully it's nearly winter so they're under wraps adding an extra layer of warmth). Even the newly Jordan style cleavage isn't making me bouncy. The last thing I want to do is be out and about with lovely young things looking perky and happy. Normally I would console myself with a nice little item from the boutique or new designer lipstick and several bottles glasses of red wine to detract from my other shortcomings, but unfortunately the recently replaced toilet is the only flushed thing around here and I'm responsible for an unborn child's life, so no little perk me up gifts for me.

So every time there's a suggestion of somewhere we could go, like a couple of tatty old bag people accepting the crumbs of social acceptance with a glass of apple juice in hand and blinking at the bright lights of Shoreditch (I think the hormones are sending me into a terminal drama queen too), I decline and would rather stay home writing my blog, stroking my pussy(cat) and watching The Family on the telly. Last night's episode introduce us to the heavily pregnant Kaki and her beer swilling Bollywood actor husband Jeet. Both Mr Singh and I gasped as Kaki and Jeet started talking to and about each other,

Jeet: "She always knows when I've had a drink.... I don't know how"

Kaki: "I'm not going, no, you can't make me, I don't want to. Go on your own"

Kaki: "You've been drinking, haven't you?"
Jeet: "But I only had one beer"

Jeet: "You treat me like a dog"

Jeet: "You're a little bit too dramatic"

A vague sense of deja-vu took over as we realised we had actually said all these things and awkward laughter escaped from our mouths. Was not so impressed when Aunty Boo said she felt sorry for Jeet by the end of the show, though we did agree that it might not have been appropriate for Jeet to be showing his toddler child films with him shooting people and killing a small child. Still, Mr Singh is not a Bollywood actor, unlike Jeet who 'starred' alongside Shiney Ahuja, a rising star of Indian film and dashing looking chap, currently on bail and accused of raping his maid one Sunday afternoon whilst the Missus was away with the kids (a clear case of life immitating Bollywood, nahin?). In fact, Mr Singh doesn't really like Bollywood, although he is a filmmaker. His taste is for something altogether grittier than the average Bollywood number with a penchant for Punjab and esoteric themes (though Shiney & Jeet's 'Gangster' film was actually rather good despite the ubiquitous musical numbers).

So, Mr Singh's attempts to get me out of the house this evening fell upon deaf ears, and I skulked about complaining in a slightly pathetic and wobbly bottom lip kind of a way, until I took pity on his desire not to be stuck at home with Kaki's understudy and decided to try to shake myself out of the doldrums, put on some mascara and a breast-revealing outfit to catch the 149 bus to the crazy urban jungle of Shoreditch. By the time I'd come away from the laptop ready to shuffle my way upstairs and into a transformation, Mr Singh was stroking and kissing the cat folornly and declaring it was too rainy outside and that he didn't want to go now. 'But I thought we were going now? Are you sure you don't want to?' to which Mr Singh's response was to open the front door, stand outside, come back in, declare it 'definitely too rainy' and to lie on the sofa with a sigh and a hand across his forehead declaring another lost evening at just 8:30pm, and all because I didn't want to go and didn't want him to go, so he didn't want to go because he got my vibe. I explained that I had told him to go, had said I'd go with him, that there was no vibe, he should have just gone anyway, and that anyway he had changed his mind after standing outside in the rain, which he denied doing so I explained that he actually went into both the back and the front garden to check out the rain, but he was having none of it and pulled his beige cashmere hat down low over his eyes and stuck his bottom lip out (now who's suffering from being 'a little bit too dramatic'?).

So here I am, blog completed for the day, cat trying to stay invisible to avoid teary cuddling and manic stroking, and Mr Singh tucked away upstairs cursing me for stopping him go for a drink, with nothing on the TV except bright young things that will remind me of my expanding waistline and inability to drink the red wine that would normally dull the ache of premature social irrelevance. Time for the cocoa and a nice hot bath, I reckon - might as well enjoy the perks of the onset of middle age.