Posted by: Vicky V | August 2, 2009

Sunday bloody Sunday

Someone was playing a practical joke on singletons when he / she / it added Sundays to the end of the week.

When Marcus was around at least there was some structure to my “day of rest”. I could always say to my colleagues on a Monday morning, “lovely Sunday thanks. I went to Top Shop then rowed with Marcus over paint stripper at Home Base. You know,the branch near Finsbury Park. Yes, I didn’t know it was there until recently either . It’s ever so convenient”.

Now I have no one to do the DIY and no one to argue with other than myself. But don’t get me wrong – I haven’t been sitting here in a steaming pot of self-pity all weekend.

After much persuasion Suze convinced me to go out with our old school friends whose names end in “ia”. I generally avoid them but Suze keeps in touch with on the basis that everyone she meets will some day have something to teach her.

I am just not balanced or generous or zen enough to remember which of Sophia, Grania, Vivia and Maria owns their own company selling children’s fridge magnets / married a sheik then patented her own hugely successful eyebrow gel / started their own nuts ‘n seeds magazine. I just remember them as one big cloud of successful blunt haircuts and good complexions (i.e people who have enough time to use a hair mask and relax because they have assistants who answer their e-mails and can deal with the buggering frustrations of daily life like having to buy yet another thrush treatment for your recurrent problem).

I remembered this all too late as I positioned myself at their table with a double gin and began an evening devoted to tales of management buy-outs, trips to swanky restaurants I’d never heard of and where to buy something called Molecule on South Molton Street (i.e what life is when you are “in the know”).

So yes, I am hungover and sorry for myself today as clearly my tales of malingering boyfriends, disastrous jobs and behavioural imbalance do not make for the glamorous conversation I needed to survive the evening in tact.

But this morning I pulled myself up by the bootstraps and decided to make it all better. First I threw all my bath towels in the dryer until they reached body temperature, then wrapped myself in them, pretending I was back in the womb.

Then I bought a Mcdonalds McFlurry, added extra M & Ms and vowed to make a plan in the short time I was high on sugar.

I surfed the internet for inspiration. First I thought I’d get a pet as a companion to walk in the park on a Sunday. But I got caught up in this man’s search for advice on his pet wasp. Then I thought I’d administer some self-help via this article on dealing with jealousy. I have decided to take its advice and address my issues of self esteem.

I am going to throw the office the biggest and sparkliest away day they have ever seen.

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