My sleep in was rudely interrupted about 6.07am by my South African stalker. ‘Oh my!’ I hear you say. ‘A stalker?!’ Yes. For over 12 months now I have received random phone calls about every 6 weeks from a South African extension - I never actually get to speak to anyone, most often they like to let the phone ring until I answer it then they hang up. If it goes to voicemail I sometimes get a few random ‘hellos’, which serves no purpose other than to charge me for retrieving the voicemail. My so called ‘service provider’ has offered no assistance either, other than to offer to change my phone number – which I have had since I was knee high to a grasshopper and have no intention of doing.
So as it was, I was awake at a rather early hour, but with the sun streaming in I retrieved my newspaper from the lawn and went about making a fabulous Sunday morning breakfast for myself – like going to breakfast out but in my pyjamas. I decided that an omelette was going to be my egg based dish of choice for the morning, and set about it, coffee machine going, toast in, chopped up tomatoes… then, dilemma.
I don’t have a small, omelette style frypan. Only large stir-fry style ones. Solution? Make scrambled eggs and toss the cheese and tomato in with it! I can tell you right now, from first hand experience, this is not the same as an omelette. Not even close. A girlfriend described the texture as ‘gluggy'. I have to agree. Do not try this at home. At least the coffee was good.
Next up on my well planned Sunday – a first birthday party, home to all things sugar filled and cavity inducing. I donned a pink frock, heels and a bow in my hair, and off to the princess’s party I went. It is my opinion that first birthday parties should be more of a celebration for the parents – as in, ‘Phew! We made it through the first year and everyone is still alive!’ There should be champagne beside the fairy bread and Dads standing in the backyard with beer and a tool set, wondering how they go about putting together the swing set Nana bought little Dora. Well this party had no champagne. Or beer. Or a swing set. But there was fairybread. And cake. And lollies. And children. So many children. I don’t have any children of my own, but it’s always so nice to see kids with icing and sprinkles all over their faces, mud on their knees and dirt in their hair turn to you with a look that says ‘I need my mum’, and be able to point them in the other direction. I had my fill of smarties and sweets and left the little bundles of joy to engage in more adult pursuits – working off the sugar I had just consumed by taking a friend for a quick walk around the block.
Sunday is meant to be an exercise free day. It’s only fair that if we work all week and try for the most part to be good and watch what we eat, that we should get a day off from thinking about our weight woes, but alas, half a bag of natural confectionary jellies and a slice of cake will go straight to the hips no matter what day of the week. My ‘block’ is about 6km’s (much to my friends disgust) but an hour later, quite pleased with ourselves, I am now thinking about what to have for dinner.
My sugarhigh has worn off, and my thoughts turn to next week. Sunday is three quarters over and I wonder just what happened to my best intentions this morning to just ‘have a slow one’. I have one saving grace – the Sunday roast, which I probably could still pull off, but the thought of the preparation, not to mention the dishes, is just too much to bear, and the take away directory next to the phone is looking mighty appealing. After all, I did go for a walk this afternoon...
Under 3ft tall and feel like being a princess for a day?
Checkout the Big W toy sale for these taffeta creations, on sale for $29.46 each.
Perfect for your next princess party.
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