Dreading the thing. 

No matter how much you’re dreading a thing, it’ll soon pass. That’s as true as death and taxes. (Unless it’s like a reaaaaally long prison sentence or having someone talk you through their holiday snaps – then time drags like buggery and sometimes even goes into reverse). 

You might be wondering why I’ve gone all philosophical all of a sudden. You might not. But I’ll tell you anyway – I’ve the rescheduled root canal tomorrow at 1120. 

To say I’m dreading it is an understatement. I can’t cancel it, due to arseholery of the universe which continues to conspire against me and the fact that it’s already been postponed by the dentist once and took weeks to fit me in again. 

Did you watch Bake Off tonight? It was bread week, which had the goatbeast Paul Hollywood all a-quiver, chewing on bits of bread with narrowed eyes and spouting pseudo-scientific bread making related shite. The mere watching of bread week gave me the yeast bloat. I might pretend I’m gluten intolerant and grow a beard, which won’t be much of a stretch if the number of times I can be found stabbing crabbitly at my chin with tweezers is anything to go by. 

When will this boys with beards thing end? It’s lasted a while. It might be like leggings and never go away. It’s nature’s way. If we women didn’t have leggings we’d have eff all to wear. We’d be naked from the waist down. Nature doesn’t want that. Neither does it want hordes of single clean shaven boys swanning around looking for someone to mate with because they’ve been dumped by girlfriends who finally saw what was under that beard and it wasn’t pretty. 

Wish me luck tomorrow and remind me to put the bin out tomorrow night. 

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