21st Century Fairy Godmother

So Cinders went to the ball this evening. She didn’t think she would – she’d already been out the night before to play badminton and life comes with responsibilities and a limit to fun. But she’d put up with the wicked temper of her siblings (nursery pick-up can be a bitch!) and nearly vacuumed the dining area carpet, so her Fairy Godmother (or, just her mum) took pity on her and granted her a night of partying with friends, if not a handsome prince.

  

The typical nursery pick-up as experienced by Eve – Noodles has a sit-down protest in the rain.

In true Fairy Godmother-style a costume was pulled out of thin air. In fact, this Fairy gave options! Even though the costume specifics were Gatsby-style 20’s flapper. (The depths of my wardrobe knows no bounds!)

(Disappointingly social media seems to have let us down as no photos appear to exist – yet – of the night’s shenanigans for our Cinders. This Fairy Godmother feels somewhat let down. A Twitter feed just doesn’t suffice.)

  
What the Fairy Godmother also failed to realise upon doing her magic was:

a) Cinders would leave the devastation of her ‘decades of prep’ all over the Fairy Godmother’s bedroom and bathroom.

b) This would include not picking up the Fairy’s toothbrush after knocking onto the floor.

c) Although Cinders left the party before the stroke of midnight, she would have neglected to have taken a key, thus requiring a phone call to the then-sleeping Fairy…who now can’t get back to sleep.

  
Sheesh.

Perhaps the Fairy Godmother should just be grateful that this Cinders didn’t fleece her for money for new shoes. 

There Was a Young Woman Who Swallowed a Lie

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There was a young woman who swallowed a lie.
An abject lie about her thighs.
Perhaps she’ll cry.

There was a young woman who read all the mags.
What a drag to read all the mags.
She read all the mags to quell the lie,
The abject lie about her thighs.
Perhaps she’ll cry.

There was a young woman who adopted each fad.
To feel more glad she adopted each fad.
She adopted each fad as she read all the mags.
What a drag to read all the mags.
She read all the mags as she swallowed the lie,
The abject lie about her thighs.
Perhaps she’ll cry.

There was a young woman who ate nothing but soup
Oh and bits of goop, but still mostly soup.
She ate the soup as she adopted each fad.
She adopted each fad as she read all the mags.
What a drag to read all the mags.
She read all the mags as she swallowed the lie,
The abject lie about her thighs.
Perhaps she’ll cry.

There was a young woman who ran every night.
What a sight as she ran every night.
She ran every night and ate nothing but soup.
She ate the soup as she adopted each fad.
She adopted each fad as she read all the mags.
What a drag to read all the mags.
She read all the mags as she swallowed the lie,
The abject lie about her thighs.
Perhaps she’ll cry.

There was a young woman who swallowed some pills
It made her ill to swallow the pills.
She swallowed the pills as she ran every night.
She ran every night and ate nothing but soup.
She ate the soup as she adopted each fad.
She adopted each fad as she read all the mags.
What a drag to read all the mags.
She read all the mags as she swallowed the lie,
The abject lie about her thighs.
Perhaps she’ll cry.

There was an old woman who realised
There never was anything wrong with her thighs.
She realised so stopped taking the pills.
Stopped taking the pills, no longer ran every night.
No longer ran every night and ate more than just soup.
More than just soup, no longer tied to the fads.
No longer tied to the fads she burned all the mags.
Wasn’t she glad to burn all the mags!
She burnt all the mags and spat out the lie,
The abject lie about her thighs,
And just bought a bigger size.

* * * * *

Thank you, Little Miss Menopause for inspiring this post.

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Sorry I didn’t manage to squeeze in Boom Boom, Ain’t It Great To Be Crazy.
LMM is a blogging genius and I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed for her at the upcoming BlogHer awards. This one’s for you, LMM.

The Wheels on the Bus

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The wheels on the bus go round and round.
Round and round. Round and round.
The wheels on the bus go round and round all day long.

The driver on the bus goes ‘No more room.’*
‘No more room. No more room.’
The driver on the bus goes ‘No more room,’ all day long.
(*’Unless you can single-handedly wrangle your toddler and fold up your buggy and lift it onto the luggage wrack that’s already filled with someone else’s suitcase.’)

The mum on the bus manages the impossible.
Manages the impossible. Manages the impossible.
The mum on the bus manages the impossible, whilst the driver pulls away.

The toddler on the bus goes chatter chatter chatter.
Chatter chatter chatter, chatter chatter chatter.
The toddler on the bus goes chatter chatter chatter and ‘WHEEEEEEEE!’ as we go over the bridge.

The oldies on the bus go ‘Tut tut tut.’
‘Tut tut tut. Tut tut tut.’
The oldies on the bus go ‘Tut tut tut,’ even though they ride for free.

The people on the bus all dash to get off.
Dash to get off. Dash to get off.
The people on the bus all dash to get off, but the buggy’s in the way.

The contents of the buggy spill onto the floor.
Onto the floor. All over the floor.
The contents of the buggy spill onto the
floor, whilst the toddler runs away.

The mum on the bus says ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry.’
‘Sorry sorry sorry. Sorry sorry sorry.’
The mum on the bus says ‘Sorry sorry sorry,’ all day long.