Read Online Love... And Sleepless Nights MAY 2012 by Nick Spalding - Free Book Online
Authors: Nick Spalding
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your need is more immediate than mine!’
I thanked her for the bag of clothes, put them in the cupboard and tried very hard to forget about them.
…successfully, until tonight.
Now the bag is open, the clothes are laid out on the bed and my heart has sunk to the depths.
Don’t get me wrong, the maternity clothing companies try hard.
Every effort has been made to accommodate the distended belly into the cut and line of their products. They try their best to make you still feel feminine and sexy.
They fail utterly of course, but we should give them marks for making an effort.
I can’t escape the mental image of a squeezed sausage as I yank on a pink and black number that’s gathered below the breasts, before flaring out over little Miss Newman in a cascade of material.
Without the additional cloth it would be a lovely little dress, but as it is, I just feel like a big fat cow trying to fit into an outfit that would be far too small for her were it not for the additional yard or so of cotton.
Still, it fits.
…which is more than can be said for my LBDs. I may never wear them again - curse Jamie and his overactive penis!
The crying fit only lasts five minutes this time.
I’m very pleased they’re getting shorter now. My hormones must be settling down at last.
With the dress on I sit down to put on some make-up.
I look like a haggard witch at the moment, so it’s going to be a difficult and time-consuming operation to bring me up to muster.
Thanks to my unborn child I haven’t been sleeping well at all. I don’t have eye bags, I have eye hammocks.
Still, that’s what concealer was invented for.
…and foundation.
Lots and lots of foundation.
It’ll make me look like a cheap Eastern European prostitute, but that’s still better than Princess Panda Face in my book.
So there we have it.
Bump on display to the world and covered in slap, I’m ready for my first night out on the town in months!
It’s
seven thirty
, I’m knackered already and won’t even be able to drink my cares away - thanks to my body’s stupid inability to consume alcohol and give birth to a healthy child at the same time.
A sober fat git I shall remain all evening.
Woo hoo.
I can barely contain my excitement.
***
At least I could contain the contents of my stomach, which is more than can be said for Rachel, Melina’s ditzy friend from work.
I have never been on a night out with the girls and not been falling down drunk by the end of it, therefore this evening has been a real eye-opener for me.
It comes as a great shock to discover that people, when they have consumed a large amount of alcohol, turn into what can only be described as utter twats.
Not drinking meant I became the taxi service for the evening. I picked up Melina and Rachel at Mel’s house, then went over to grab Shelley from work.
Shelley shares the manager’s position at
Thorntons
with me and we’ve become firm friends in the past few weeks. A mutual hatred of
Thorntons
has been the cornerstone of our relationship.
She’s worked for them for eight years, while I was forced into the job share thanks to Jamie’s lack of penis control.
I had hoped Hotel Chocolat might see past my vomitous exploits at the interview and offer me a job, but so far – de nada.
‘Bleed the bastards for every penny,’ Shelley said to me a while back, when I confided in her that I was pregnant and would need to tell our bosses sooner or later. ‘I’d get myself knocked up too if I wasn’t thirty eight and a chain smoker.’
Back to tonight. Shelley puts out her cigarette before getting into the car and we’re off towards town for what will be a night I’d happily consign to the dustbin of my memory if I could.
Things start off okay…
They always tend to, as nobody is shit-faced at
eight thirty
- unless you’re in
Ireland
, of course.
We start proceedings at The Bog and Trellis in the high street.
I have no idea why anyone would
I thanked her for the bag of clothes, put them in the cupboard and tried very hard to forget about them.
…successfully, until tonight.
Now the bag is open, the clothes are laid out on the bed and my heart has sunk to the depths.
Don’t get me wrong, the maternity clothing companies try hard.
Every effort has been made to accommodate the distended belly into the cut and line of their products. They try their best to make you still feel feminine and sexy.
They fail utterly of course, but we should give them marks for making an effort.
I can’t escape the mental image of a squeezed sausage as I yank on a pink and black number that’s gathered below the breasts, before flaring out over little Miss Newman in a cascade of material.
Without the additional cloth it would be a lovely little dress, but as it is, I just feel like a big fat cow trying to fit into an outfit that would be far too small for her were it not for the additional yard or so of cotton.
Still, it fits.
…which is more than can be said for my LBDs. I may never wear them again - curse Jamie and his overactive penis!
The crying fit only lasts five minutes this time.
I’m very pleased they’re getting shorter now. My hormones must be settling down at last.
With the dress on I sit down to put on some make-up.
I look like a haggard witch at the moment, so it’s going to be a difficult and time-consuming operation to bring me up to muster.
Thanks to my unborn child I haven’t been sleeping well at all. I don’t have eye bags, I have eye hammocks.
Still, that’s what concealer was invented for.
…and foundation.
Lots and lots of foundation.
It’ll make me look like a cheap Eastern European prostitute, but that’s still better than Princess Panda Face in my book.
So there we have it.
Bump on display to the world and covered in slap, I’m ready for my first night out on the town in months!
It’s
seven thirty
, I’m knackered already and won’t even be able to drink my cares away - thanks to my body’s stupid inability to consume alcohol and give birth to a healthy child at the same time.
A sober fat git I shall remain all evening.
Woo hoo.
I can barely contain my excitement.
***
At least I could contain the contents of my stomach, which is more than can be said for Rachel, Melina’s ditzy friend from work.
I have never been on a night out with the girls and not been falling down drunk by the end of it, therefore this evening has been a real eye-opener for me.
It comes as a great shock to discover that people, when they have consumed a large amount of alcohol, turn into what can only be described as utter twats.
Not drinking meant I became the taxi service for the evening. I picked up Melina and Rachel at Mel’s house, then went over to grab Shelley from work.
Shelley shares the manager’s position at
Thorntons
with me and we’ve become firm friends in the past few weeks. A mutual hatred of
Thorntons
has been the cornerstone of our relationship.
She’s worked for them for eight years, while I was forced into the job share thanks to Jamie’s lack of penis control.
I had hoped Hotel Chocolat might see past my vomitous exploits at the interview and offer me a job, but so far – de nada.
‘Bleed the bastards for every penny,’ Shelley said to me a while back, when I confided in her that I was pregnant and would need to tell our bosses sooner or later. ‘I’d get myself knocked up too if I wasn’t thirty eight and a chain smoker.’
Back to tonight. Shelley puts out her cigarette before getting into the car and we’re off towards town for what will be a night I’d happily consign to the dustbin of my memory if I could.
Things start off okay…
They always tend to, as nobody is shit-faced at
eight thirty
- unless you’re in
Ireland
, of course.
We start proceedings at The Bog and Trellis in the high street.
I have no idea why anyone would
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