The B-day Approacheth

It is that time of year... next week to be precise. I should be feeling a lot more mature, but I'm not. I am still reduced to tears by the stupidest things, like being seen to have made a wrong decision. I am still in love with jewellery and can't seem to get enough. I still can't give up sugar. Maybe what I need to get is acceptance, not maturity. Or maybe they are the same. Or maybe I should start thinking of these failings as assets. Probably the latter would be best. So. Resolutions for the next year of my life:

Go against every grain but my own.

Be the most genuinely me that I can be, even if that means a magpie fairy stuffing her face with chocolate, running after every shiny stone she sees.

And try not to care how it all looks.

The Height of Married Life

So Mr. P and I have reached the pinnacle of married life. Oh, lucky pengirl, you say. Listen to this. OK, this is going to get a bit intimate. Mr. P and I are not above using some shall we say utensils in our whoopee time and one of them is a bottle of personal ...hm, lubricant. Penboy has a hamster, as you know, Henry. Henry likes to run in his wheel all night long. The wheel has become really squeaky, keeping us up. Do you see where I'm going with this? Finally, Mr.P decided enough was enough and he was going to put WD40 on that wheel.

I came home from work the next day and this conversation ensued.

Mr. P: I finally got Henry's wheel to stop squeaking!

Me: You put WD40 on it, could that not be harmful to him!?

Mr. P (with a happy shining smile on his face): No, actually, I could not find the right lube, so I used our lube for it.

Me: As in...happy times lube?

Mr. P (with pride): Yes!

And that, ladies and gentlemen is the height of married life. Using sex toys to fix your child's pent's cage. Yep, it doesn't get better than that.