So what is it that attracts you, drives you wild and turns you into an insatiable beast?
Are you attracted to someone who charms their way into your pants? Wines and dines you? Treats you like a lady and showers you with champagne and roses?
Or are you abit of a Monica Lewinsky and it’s a power thing, the more powerful the man/woman the more turned you are?
Do you go for the rough and ready approach? Treat em mean and keep them keen? Abit of a wham bam, thank you man?
For me personally, no man has ever charmed me to the bedroom. I’ve never been attracted by money, possessions or power – although I will confess a bottle of Chanel No. 5 will make my knees quiver for a while 😜
The one thing that is the biggest turn on for me is simply laughter. If you can make me laugh, have a good banter with and make me laugh till I cry – I would be putty in your hands 😃
Just to pre- warn – this is a Shutter Island spoiler – although the film is so bloody old now I would imagine anyone who wanted to see it would have seen it by now – and furthermore, if you haven’t seen it, this post will make no sense to you whatsoever 😜
When the film was first released my two sons took me to see it at the Cinema. What a twist at the end of the film …………….. 😳
The following day both boys had to go to work. At this time Christian, my eldest, was 18 and working full time at a Rehabilitation Unit for adults with brain injuries. Meanwhile Cam was 16, at College and working part-time on the bread counter in Tesco.
After the late night and a tiring day for them both they were arguing over who was going to make the tea.
“I’ve been at work all day, I’m not doing it” said Christian
“I’ve also been at work all day” said his brother indignantly
Christian looked pitifully at his younger brother and said “Cameron, I work in a Brain Injuries Unit, I assist people learning to walk again, I am trained in how to deal with violent patients, I potentially save lives. With all due respect, you work on a bread counter and fill up the shelves in Tesco”
Cam looked at his older brother, put his hand on his shoulder and replied “Chris, I think you really need to be told the truth now. When you go off to work, in your nurses uniform, carrying your little sandwich box – you haven’t got a job, you don’t really work there ……” 😂😂😂
My two eldest sons still have to share a bedroom. This is no mean feat seeing as they are adults – not little boys with toys.
I very rarely venture into their hovel – it’s usually dark with no floor space and to be honest I’m afraid I may find a “person” hidden under a pile of clothes 😳
I confess I still peek around their door after they’ve had a night out – I still like to check they’ve both found their way home again. I’ve found bodies that don’t belong to me curled up in a bed on various occasions 😄
But every now and again I decide to give their room a good spring clean. Folk are amazed and say to me “they are adults, why are you cleaning their bedroom?”
Well I’ll tell you why: 3 nice lighters, a packet of biscuits, a new blue biro, a DVD I haven’t watched for ages, a packet of chewing gum and £4.75 – that’s why I clean their room 😄
One of my very first posts from when I still didn’t have any boobs 😄
I bloody hate swimming! I think I`m mentally scarred from my teenage school days!
Swimming was always in the middle of the day, after you`d spent the morning applying your blue eyeshadow, flicking your hair into the latest Farah Fawcett Majors hair style and applying your Avon “Sweet Honesty” perfume. You came out of the pool, rushing, so you`re not late for Double Maths, trying to pull your school uniform onto your still wet back, hair hanging down your neck like a load of rats tails, stinking of chlorine and eyes all red and bloodshot – looking like an extra from the Thriller video!
Course all this would have been worth it – had I had some boobs! I was probably one of the last people in the school to grow a chest – well actually I`m still awaiting…
Do you get offended by bad language? Does it have an impact on what you’re reading? Does it give you an bad impression of someone? Do you think it makes someone appear less intelligent and unable to express themselves without the need to swear?
Personally it doesn’t trouble me and doesn’t give me any negative impressions – I tend to act like a naughty child when I hear and say the F word 😃
I had a conversation with my in-laws the other night. They do read my blog and fortunately are broad-minded enough not to be offended by my language. As it happens I don’t swear generally, certainly not infront of the girls. Jeff and their older brothers, who all work in a predominantly male environment, all quite regularly swear – but I don’t 😇
I guess this is my outlet and sometimes only the F word will do!
I hate bad language on children and I have never heard my girls utter any profanities – we’ll certainly not infront of us. I sometimes imagine them going into school, seeing their teacher and saying “how the fuck you doing Miss?” “We’re not doing those bastard fractions again are we?” 😳
Please may I have one complete painfree day today – I am doing quite well at the moment 😄
I would like to claim the rest of today so I can spend some time with my lovely trolls, cook dinner and clean my house that looks like the aftermath of a drunken teenagers party. I would like to hoover and steam my floor, put in some washing so we all have clean pants for tomorrow ❤️
Please give me a day off from my Bastard Fucking Tooth pain – thank you 😳
All my children, at various stages of their childhood, have loved to hear all the details about their births – obviously not the older ones now – the whole idea of mother ever having sex is just gross and a taboo subject.
When they were younger they all wanted details, competing with each other as to who was the fastest and easiest, who managed to create the most stitches, who was the biggest/smallest/cutest – who had the cone head for the longest, who fed for the longest, who gave mommy the biggest piles – bloody hell, I could carry on for hours – but I’m sure you get my drift 😳
Incidentally my hardest labour was, unsurprisingly, 1st born – 27 hours in labour, every drug and pain relief used – I begged to be hit over the head with a bedpan – killed, anything – just stop this bloody pain!
I was telling him about how he was eventually delivered in the theatre with shovels – that they pretended were forceps – round his head. He eagerly listened as I told him how his Daddy was there, and the Surgeon, some midwives and a few medical students all urging me to PUUUUSSSHHHH ………….