Johnny Cosmo

Girls are at the bottom, fighting on how to make the best of Dolly the ankle angel. Who said the spirit of Christmas was dead and buried then huh? That is what I know.
Jason is currently hacking his way through the roads of Norfolk z his mother to the home with Oscar in tow. I try not to worry about this too. Although I took my phone twenty times this afternoon so I can ring him to see how he is and if it is correct and how is Oscar and not to plant this tree, so then I think if I ring him, he could crash to answer the phone and it would be my fault if I put it again. Then I think there would be no point to sound him anyway, as there is no bloody telephone, in particular, that Bermuda Triangle of Norfolk as it is.
I do not normally worry that much when he is on and with my son, but it is very, very dark today. It is also very wet and cold and the roads will probably be later on the ice. It snowed a little last night. And he had broken sleep because his phone rang at half past five this morning for no apparent reason and woke us. I am agitated. It is not good. Je suis sûr qu’il sera très bien, mais je suis de toute façon agitée.
I am also troubled because my hormones are working overtime this weekend and I feel responsible to burst into tears, exploded with rage and cry pictures of small puppies at once. It is not for peace and tranquility. It is along the dark tea time of the soul.
Everything seemed to slip slightly out of control this morning. I woke up late. I’m late going because I am trying to finish my appalling French novel, which I did. This means that when Aunt Squirrel turn has come for us to see Joseph I was lunch in the kitchen of my pajamas and certainly not anywhere even close to ready.
When I take the kids for some big event, I like to be) organized, and b) as soon as possible. Thus, no realization of the above was a big thing for me.
Despite remortgaging home theater seats we were still in the box lighting and ceiling. Fortunately, we have seen and the sound quality was good. Tallulah took to try to go to the toilet mid-production when we see the theater, despite the fact that it remains as camels on his toilet habits if we are going to the movies. I pointed out to her as I apologized my way through the crowd of heads of disapproval for the second time in three weeks to get to the toilet. She promised that it will be good next time. We’ll see.
Anyway, they loved and had a wonderful time. It was encouraging to tear so watch it and singing and clapping and believe what they saw. It was good.
This is fortunate because Andrea and I went to the RSC production of Christmas in Stratford yesterday evening. They asked the theater company Kneehigh stage something because they are in place in London wowing the crowds with Hamlet. We Don John. It turns out that Don John is a reinterpretation of the opera Don Giovanni, on the life of Casanova, but this time he was in the 1970s. It included Raleigh Choppers, striking miners, more people to violate the kitchen table and a lot of industrial strength accessories. It seems to last for hours and my brain shut down half of the second half.
Not so bad it was. It is not just my thing. It was long, complex, overdramatic and gritty. I am not in favor gritty. I guts at home. I need to shine when I go out. I suppose I must thank my lucky stars that it is not so sticky. If I had been sticky in May and had to leave at half time.
As it was, in the end they were still in their Barry White and I pulled on stage by Don John himself, with whom I danced. I did not want to go. I protested. Then I thought: ‘Fuck it! I’m thirty-six. What is the worst thing that can happen? It would kill me. "
I scrambled, inelegantly on the scene. I had chosen that day to wear a dress! I never wear dresses more. I usually do to remove materials that wash. But yesterday I threw caution to the winds. I wore my Ghost navy column dress with three-inch heel boots edge. It was a disaster enter the stadium. A disaster.
I sprawled at his feet, myself transported to and whirled on the stage. I crushed his feet broken and sweat profusely throughout his hands. It was a head and a half taller than me and wore a dress. I found myself chatting to his nipples. It was not good.
Fortunately, after three minutes, and each appeared to be a week, he begged my forgiveness and decided to move on to someone else. I was very happy.