Fetch

Lily has taken to throwing balls of all sizes and nature over the fence, possibly causing the neighbourhood eye-candy to suspect foul play and forcing him to haul his sexy-assed body over to my front door with Lily’s tennis ball in hand.

“Hi, your daughter lost her ball – again” He says grinning and hands me the ball.
It’s then I realize I have a total loss of cerebral function and mumble “Oh” - Oh? Fucking OH? Is that it? Is this what’s become of me since Eric left?

“Um, yeah, just thought I’d let you know, it’s ok for her to just go out back and get it without asking – no need to keep knocking on the door” Now he’s going on like we’re a pair of pests!
“Sorry, I’ll make sure she doesn’t disturb you again” I tried to give my best I don’t give a shit look .

He looked like he had something else to say, but didn’t - probably because he now thinks I’m an absolute fucking twit. So in true twit manner, I watched ga-ga as he flashed one of those sexiest man in a uniform smiles and left.

So I went inside and wallowed in self-pity with a family size bag of Smarties, whilst I thought of quirky, intelligent things I would have said if I was quirky and intelligent.

Tomorrow’s date is still on, despite my misgivings about the height of Dan the accountant. Jess is lending me the highest heels anyone ever owned and babysitting Lily.

Now all I have to do is try and remember what Dan’s face looks like.

Composure and Grace (Pre-Party)

Well, am devastated at quality of pictures and dishevelled look of self in pictures.

However did manage to find half decent pic that managed to hide over-sized ass.

Am forever grateful to my sweet Lily for this!

Due to fragile ego and survival of the fittest and all that shit - I will refrain from publishing further party photo's.

Party Twat

Despite my best efforts, I was an absolute party twat.

Only freakishly tall accountants over the age of forty were lining up to dance with me. Leaving me no choice but to feign a foot injury and consume large quantities of wine. My miracle bra did little to attract the only handsome non-accounting male at the party, therefore I was forced to stand close to him and make a date with a passing 45 year old accountant in an attempt to appear popular and date-worthy.

I guzzled a whole bottle of wine and then fumbled with my key in the door at 2am on Sunday morning. Cursing and banging my head also failed to open the door – scantily clad bare-chested policeman WAS able to open the door due to it being HIS door.

I now appear to be a drunken harlot who picks neighbours locks at night.

The sexy muscle cop has apparently reported me to Lily, as she has told me at dinner on Sunday that I shouldn’t come home so late, otherwise people will talk about me - that child knows too much.

With date looming on Wednesday I must :
Find a babysitter, as nanny-rooter Eric has prior engagements (Possibly swingers night?).
Stop repeatedly fantasizing about being cuffed and arrested in my bikini.
Find super high stilettos, so as to reach at least chin height of my date.
Practice staying awake when people use accounting terms in everyday speech.

- Also, promise to post photo's as soon I upload them on to PC and figure out how to put them on blog!

Party Day

I’m sickend to my core.

The visitor last night was his mother….. He fed his mother an aphrodisiac cake – Oh Lord help him.

On a brighter more normal subject, the party is tonight. I’ve found the best Audrey Hepburn style shoes and will possibly be “very breakfast at Tiffany’s”.

Look out bachelors Sara is single and she’s on her way – and she’s wearing a miracle bra.

Lady Caller

Oh my God. I can’t believe this, he’s got a visitor next door.

All I saw was the back of a womans head going around the corner into his house.
I’m fighting the urge to march over and knock on the door and demand my cake back.

Neighbourly welcome.

Arrgh! The last shopping day before the party.

Still not a fancy kitten heel shoe in sight, although I do have a new lust for life, passion and the longing to be in the muscular arms of a hunky woman-lovin’ man. This is due to the following:

Seeing that bastard ex of mine in a brand new car, possibly gained through illegal means (ie.by pimpimg his nanny-whore).
Having to constantly witness blatent displays of raw masculine talent in a police uniform.
The hell bent desire to at least make it to second base with a delicious man (other than Eric) before I turn 35 (or at least have someone want to make it to second base with me).

Also Lily was really annoyed with me because I baked a cake for the uniformed hunk and generously sprinkled it with horny goat weed (despite it’s aphrodisiac qualities this wasn’t my intention). I only baked it to welcome him and make him feel accepted and wanted in the neighbourhood. Despite my good intentions, Lily said it was a really try hard thing to do(what would she know in the ways of the world, she’s only 10).

Also I’ve set a very strict agenda for this afternoon: Shopping for shoes, relaxing facials and half a bottle of wine to prepare myself for any worthy bachelors I may meet tomorrow night.

The Sexiest Man with a Pistol

The sexiest man alive has moved next door. I was caught gawking open-mouthed out of my lounge room window – without miracle bra. Possibly mouthed the word ‘fuck’ when he saw me, giving the impression of a wonderless harlot.

Lily has already spoken with him, and managed to find out that :

1. He’s a Police Officer.
2. He has noticed my broken tail light.
3. His name is Paul.
4. He’s lives on his own.

What Lily didn’t notice was:

1. His hunky man muscles bulging out of his tight t-shirt.
2. His rampant availability due to him being single.

If such overt sexy behaviour does not cease immediately. I shall be forced to cancel all other plans and sit and spy on him from my lounge room window.

Distractions

I had a very near miss today with a removal truck in my driveway, possibly due to my miracle/wonder bra distracting me. Lily said she saw a man in a police uniform next door. So, my new neighbour is either a police man or a crack head that the police are on to.

With my luck, if he’s a cop, he’ll pull me up in my own driveway for bald tyres and a broken tail light.

Apart from the near miss, my miracle bra is doing fantastic things. The following has happened since I first wore the miracle:

Lily choked on her Weetbix when I walked out this morning.
I got all green lights on the way to the shops.
A man at least 2 years younger than me offered his place in the supermarket queue (possibly expected quick squeeze in return).

The only problem is I may have triggered lesbian tendencies in Lily’s teacher, as she could not stop gazing at my ample bosom this morning.

Jess has confirmed there will be 7 single men and 11 single women at the party, however, she was unsure if the other women also had miracle bras.

I’m thinking very seriously about a job, I’ll keep my eyes open and look in the weekend classifieds.

Also, have still not found strappy sexy party shoes.

My Miracle

I am possibly the dumbest 34 year old on the planet. Also, possibly the only 34 year old who’s never used a miracle bra. With new amazingly pert bosoms, I now look at least four years younger and expect to have to turn down men much younger than me at the party.

I even managed to find a fantastic "little black dress” -LBD -to cover my newly perky bosom. The LBD also adequately conceals my larger than necessary rear. Even Lily, my 10 year old fashion guru was impressed with my loot.

There’s just a few more things I need to do :

Get vampishly sexy hairstyle.
Buy strappy, devil-may-care looking heels.
Make sure lying bastard Eric picks Lily up later on Saturday, so as to see deliciously sexy ex-wife ready to leave for party full of eligible and handsome bachelors.
Confirm with Jess how many of the Bachelors are indeed handsome.

Pretty Mummy

I am destined to be a fashion mistake, because there is nothing in this entire city for me to wear to the party, not one single dress, or fancy skirt....nothing.

I'll probably have to cancel party plans, as I cannot possibly show my face at a party, knowing that bachelors of all ages, are checking me out, when I am so un-with-it.

When did I become a divorced freak with a wardrobe from the 80's, and more importanty - why?

Lily is very sweet and possibly wiser than me.

'Mummy, you should be happy with who you are, not what you look like, but you're very pretty still,'

'Get over here and give me a kiss, you're a smart girl,'
'Anyway Mummy you can buy a miracle bra and a tight pair of gurdle knickers if you want some lift.'

'Oh, really? You know about these things? You're only 10.'
'Mum, stop being so silly.'

So now I need to add a miracle bra to my list, so I can be perfect for the party. I will give the dress hunt one last try, after first making a good offering to the shopping gods.

Oh My God!

Celebratory burning ceremony was brilliant, I woke feeling emotionally exhilarated and fully equipped to deal with new life.

Hair is a little stinky today, nothing a good wash won’t fix. Perhaps went a tad overboard when I threw Eric's CD’s into the fire, he did plan on picking them up this weekend. Oh well – tough.

Also, I possibly drank too much and might have ruined relationship with elderly neighbour by repeatedly saying 'Fuck him,' very loudly in back yard – at 2am.

Jess is throwing an enormous 40th for Rick on Saturday and has insisted I attend. First of all, arrgh....I cannot believe my best friend's husband is 40, almost a collector's item now.

Also parties are fine for married happy people, with good clothes and tight little bottoms, but what about me. I have nothing to wear, no partner, and an ass so large it's sending me into clinical depression.

At present my choice of clothing for the party consists of a very short silver dress that I purchased in the eighties when I was sexy (apart from that big hair), or a red frock, possibly handed down by a distant aunt who used it for Saturday night dances.

Why don't I have a little black dress like normal women.

I'm also getting an 'auctioned meat' feeling about the whole party, as Jess is hell bent on lining me up with eligible bachelors.
'Come on Sara, these guys are gorgeous, just come and meet them,'
'Jess, I cannot believe this, you're supposed to be my best friend, not a pimp.'
'Fine, then just come and we'll pretend we never had this conversation.'

Hmmm.

So now I have exactly six days to find the perfect dress, a man and some magical slimming spell that will shake a few kilos off my butt. Otherwise, I am sure to be taunted with phrases like, 'hey nice to meet you, you're the first wall flower I've met in many years,' or 'wow you bring real meaning to the word fashion freak,' or worse still, 'is that lard on your ass or have you borrowed someone else's.'

To remedy this, I must :

Look for a slimming, youthful, dress that isn't silver or twenty years old.
Practice my best 'I am so beautiful I don't need a man' look.
Practise ways to stand so no one can see my wobbily ass.
Accept there may have been good reason Eric screwed the sluttish babysitter.

Liberation

Today is a special day.

It's our one year anniversary - Anniversary of the bastard leaving with the shameless hussy, who also called herself the nanny.

What kind of man does that? What kind of nanny does that? I've learned a lot in this past year. Things I've learned: Men are bastards Nanny's (especially busty blonde ones) can become whores at the drop of a hat Wine is a great companion Chocolate will make my butt larger no matter how much I regret devouring it. I read a wonderful quote, 'make this day the first in the rest of your life,' so I shall. No more whining, no more hating that nanny-slut, now I am finding me, as well as a job, a male nanny to care for Lily, and a brand new haircut. Jess, my know-it-all best friend, suggested a burning ceremony, to rid my life of all empty memories.

‘Oh goodie - we can burn those god awful wedding photo’s of yours’ She said raising a brow ‘I mean no one looked good in the eighties – right?’

‘I suppose’ I said, thinking back to how gloriously slim and youthful I looked on my wedding day.

So tonight we shall drink wine and burn wedding photos. It's time to move on, albeit with the knowledge that nannies with big boobs can't be trusted. Tonight, I'm toasting my liberation.

To the new me!