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~ Failed Domestic Goddess

NiftyFiftyShades

Tag Archives: women

You know you’re an adult when…

03 Wednesday Aug 2016

Posted by niftyfiftyshades in Etiquette, Humour, lifestyle, Midlife, Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

funny, Grown up, midlife, women

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1. You close your online gaming account and join a bee keeping forum. Bee keeping and napkin folding are your new passions.

 

 

 

 

plumber2. Workmen who come to your house to fix your boiler call you Mrs. “That’ll be an extra 50 euros for the new washer Mrs Ryan”.  None of the familiar terms of endearment, ‘love’ or ‘sunshine’ will be uttered.  It’s the least they could do to address you formally and with respect while fleecing you for every last penny.  “Standards must be maintained” will be your new mantra.

brigjones-icecream3. You could eat a whole tub of Haagen Dazs if you wanted to but choose not to. The only person wagging a finger at you as you reach for the fridge is yourself. You can stuff your face with sweets with carefree youthful abandon but you wont.  The bathroom scales will be ever present in your thoughts. It’s not as much fun anyway when there’s no one to scold you.

4. You say more appropriate things than inappropriate things. This anomaly may reverse in time.  When you’re past middle age you revert to saying more inappropriate things than appropriate, or what I like to call – radical honesty.

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5. You develop an awareness of hygiene that was never present in your teenage years.   You become acquainted with the vacuum cleaner.   It never troubled you before but suddenly the collection of socks under the bed makes you queasy.

sitdown6. You’re fond of a old ‘sit down’.

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7. You develop a cushion fixation. Your shopping habits change.  You still like the odd impulse buy but you’re more likely to find yourself in the haberdashery department of Brown Thomas than looking at Gucci handbags.  Who doesn’t love new cushions?

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8. Buying a new appliance makes you more giddy than a thirteen year old at a Justin Bieber concert. You actually read the instructions on how to care for your new stand mixer.

9. Beer will no longer cut the mustard. You discover the joys of a glass of wine.

 

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Old Bag To Let

12 Tuesday Jul 2016

Posted by niftyfiftyshades in Fashion, Humour, lifestyle, Shopping, Travel, Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

cruise, funny, Handbag, women

 

 

image  My dream of a luxury Caribbean cruise will remain just that, a dream, unless I come up with a cunning plan. Staring out of my rain soaked office window, my mind is elsewhere.  I’m lounging on deck, a Pimms in one hand and my Jamaican Patois  phrase book in the other.  A gentle breeze caresses my bikini body (in my dreams I have a bikini body).  A hot sailor arrives with a cold towel to gently dab away a bead of sweat from my sunkissed forehead…..

img_1770I trawl the internet looking for ways and means of earning a few shillings and turn my fantasy into reality. The internet offers a plethora of suggestions, but one catches my eye.

Handbag Rental:- Yes, there are crazy people out there willing to part with cash for a loan of your handbag.  Initially I find this an amusing idea.  Reminiscing about days of old when I lived at home with my five sisters.  Handbags were exchanged without permission or knowledge.  You could arrive home to find your polo mints and lip gloss strewn across the bed, handbag nowhere to be seen.  Many an argument started with ‘Where the f**k is my bag”.  Ahh! Happy days.  If I had a penny for every time my handbag was commandeered….

image.jpegBut this idea or renting out your handbag intrigues me. A Burberry clutch will get you 35 euros per week.   A Longchamp tote maybe even more. My plan may indeed be cunning. The only drawback is a lack of designer bags in my wardrobe. I might get 50 cent for my old satchel, but that wouldn’t cover the postage.

 

 

 

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAAnd there is that fact that my handbag is a health hazard.

 

img_1769However, it’s a universal truth that any domestic Goddess worth her salt must own at least one decent bag. How else can she be differentiated from the peasants. I do have a lovely Orla Kiely shopper that I’m quite attached to.  I’m not about to let any old tosser (too miserable to buy their own bag) use and abuse it.  I’ll rent out my Primark crossover bag for starters and see how I get on.  There can’t be that much competition, I can’t imagine anyone who owns an Alexander McQueen skull box clutch would be that hard pressed that they’d have to rent it out.

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If the handbag rental goes well, I could rent out all sorts of things. Shoes..I have a pair of runners that need breaking in. I wouldn’t even charge extra for the muck.  Maybe not my good shoes, don’t relish the thought of some slimey old pervert sniffing around my stilettos… Scarves, sunglasses, jewellery, husband. The sky’s the limit.

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I consider other ideas..

Personal Assistant to Millionaire:- Dashing about, organising appointments, booking flights.   Maybe I could be a kind of skivvy to the stars.  I have visions of me collecting George Clooney’s dry cleaning.  I’ll make myself indispensable to him.  George will be incapable of sneezing without my guidance.  In order to get the gig, I’d have to look the part.  Mmm…Maybe I’ll rent a little Gucci clutch bag.

 

 

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BBQ Heaven or Griller Warfare?

31 Tuesday May 2016

Posted by niftyfiftyshades in food, Humour, lifestyle, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Bbq, family, food, funny, women

image.jpegHorray!!  Summer has arrived.  Time to delve into the dark corners of the garage and haul out the bbq, (which gets little use in Ireland I might add).  Time for my man to shine.  I may be capable of turning out the odd gourmet delights in my role as head chef in our household but lets face it, how could I possibly know anything about barbequing, being a mere woman.  No, the barbeque is the mans domain, we all know that BBQ’s are powered not by coal, but testosterone.

imageFirst task, remove cobwebs and lift lid to reveal last years ash and grime. Remove any congealed crumbs or rotten meat the result of having  been stashed away last year in an unclean state. Obviously this is the woman’s responsibility.  Cleaning the BBQ is not manly work. A good half hour vigorous scrub of the grill and we are ready to rock.

image.jpegBuying the food, this is obviously the woman’s job.  Supermarket shopping is not manly work.  The meat may need preparation by the woman  first.  The woman may be assigned other lowly tasks, like tossing the salad, making dips, setting out cutlery, tables, napkins, glasses etc.  The meat should be set out on the tray beside the bbq in preparation for the manly spectacle of placing the meat on the grill.

imageDrinks in the form of beer should be provided to the man.   The woman should ensure that the fridge is stocked with cold beverages as obviously this is thirsty work for the man.

 

 

 

 

 

image.jpegAdmiration for the manly work being done.  While he dons his black apron, brandishing his tongs, pause for a moment to behold this vision of manly lovliness.

imageThe highly technical precision turning of the burgers, the careful examination of the sausage, all essential requirements to ensure even browning.  In the end to ensure no breaches of health and safety, he will make the decision to burn the bejasus out of everything.

 

 

image.jpegFinally, the momentous eating of the by now beyond recognition cremated meat.  Loud noises of approval all round.  The woman may announce loudly to everyone what a treasure her man is, to nods of approval all round.

 

I wonder who gets to clean up afterwards?

 

Signs you’ve given up on life

25 Wednesday May 2016

Posted by niftyfiftyshades in Etiquette, Fashion, Humour, lifestyle, Midlife, Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

midlife, women

imageA picture of a burka clad Anne Robinson in today’s Daily Mail got me thinking.  Some days it’s easier to hide behind baggy clothes.

Maybe you didn’t bother to check in the mirror and failed to notice that you are wearing navy trousers and black shoes but that doesn’t mean that you’ve completely given up on life.  No need to sound the full ‘I’m having a mental breakdown’ klaxon just yet.   A minor blip.  You may allow your crown to slip occasionally, but beware fellow Goddesses, it may be the start of the slide into decrepitude.

If you seek acceptance into polite society you must heed the warning signs.  If you fail more than two of the following tests, you are definitely displaying signs that you’ve given up on life.  You may need therapy to restore order.

imageWearing elasticated trousers.  This shows a complete disregard for society in general.  While ‘Thanksgiving pants’ as worn by Joey in Friends, may be permitted as a vehicle for comedy but in real life are an absolute no no.  Equally, referring to trousers as ‘relaxed fit’ or ‘slacks’, a serious crime against good taste.  If you wear tracksuit bottoms when not exercising, don’t bother with therapy, go straight to the asylum.  Perhaps it might be an idea to keep an outfit on standby, maybe some sort of bee keeping ensemble, it would be preferable to tracksuits.  Anne Robinson’s would do well to heed my advice.

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You bump into someone you haven’t seen for some time and  they proceed to tell you about the fabulous cocktail parties they’ve been and their last holiday in the Cinque Terre.   They ask you ‘What have you been up to’ and you can’t be bothered lying.  You realise that you haven’t been anywhere.  My advice, just say ‘Oh, the usual, extreme ironing, can’t get enough of it’.

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You try to lift your mood with a spot of retail therapy resulting in unwanted purchases.  Dust mop slippers.  I rest my case.

 

 

 

 

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Procrastination.  If this is your mantra “Hard work pays off but procrastination pays off now”.

 

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Brandishing a Primark bag.  By all means shop to your hearts content here but don’t flaunt it.  Standards must be maintained at all times. At least have the good sense to conceal it in a Brown Thomas bag.

 

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You fall asleep anywhere.

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You only apply nail polish to your big toe, the others won’t be seen.

 

 

 

 

 

imageYou haven’t seen your bedroom floor in over 3 months due to an assortment of clothes, mugs, books and magazines strewn around. This far exceeds the normal realms of messy.  Nothing screams ‘Look at me, I’m celebate ’  more than going to sleep under a pile of magazines and a laptop.

 

 

 

 

imageWellies.  Only wear if you are a farmer.  Even posh Hunter wellies ceased to be acceptable in 1981 when Prince Charles was snapped wearing them.

 

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Your handbag is a health hazard.  It’s stuffed with tissues, receipts and chewing gum with bits of grit stuck to it.  Your purse smells of the cheese sandwich which you bought two days ago and forgot about.

 

 

You choose vodka

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If you fail the test, you are not the only one suffering from your descent into the abyss,  the mental scars extend to your pooch.

This is a dog who fully understands and supports your ‘I’ve given up on life’ behaviour.

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My First Job

18 Wednesday May 2016

Posted by niftyfiftyshades in Midlife, Personal stuff, work

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Tags

cinema, teenage, women, work

imageOff to town to get a job.  The Green cinema on St. Stephen’s Green, an old Irish institution had a sign ‘Staff Wanted’.  It was a lovely old theatre, the only cinema in town boasting ‘love seats’ – two seater seats for couples.  A family run affair, two sisters despite being octogenarians were still holding the fort.  Mrs. Daly and Miss Noone, both favoured pleated tweed skirts, twinsets and pearls. When it opened its doors it boasted state  of the art technology, some seats equipped with a Fortephone apparatus which enabled patrons suffering from deafness to hear the soundtrack. By the 1980’s it looked a bit tired but that made it all the more appealing.

imageOn a day off school school with my friend Mary, we called one afternoon looking for a job.  Yes, they could take us both on that Saturday evening, but a training day on Friday was necessary to acquaint ourselves with the mysteries of usheretting.  I was apprehensive but Mary fancied the guy in the projector room.. offer duly accepted.

 

 

imageMiss Daly, one of the sibling propieters, handed out torches.  Tooled up, training commenced.   As the complexities of torch holding were explained, it became obvious that there was more to this showing people to their seats business than meets the eye.   ‘Keep the torch low’ Miss Noone commanded, flicking the torch discretely along the aisle’s edge as she walked.  Only after a couple of hours training had we adequately mastered the level of torch holding skills required to be fully fledged usherettes.

image.jpegDespite having to wear a kimono type overall, the sense of empowerment my torch brought made up for it.  ‘This way please’, ‘No smoking in rows 10 to 14’.  I was beginning to enjoy bossing adults about (well I was only 15).  There was a real problem with people buying standard seats trying to get into the premium love seats.  Observation skills and a sharp eye were required to patrol the aisles.  The power could go to your head, ejecting punters attempting to commandeer a love seat without the proper ticket.

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Overly amorous couples in the love seats fell into Mrs Daly’s area of expertise.   ‘Stop that carry on now’ she’d prod some unfortunate spotty teenager in the shoulder with her torch.  This work required a bigger torch than mine.

image.jpegA horror film called “When a Stranger Calls” was showing.  I got to see the first 40 minutes of it each night, but never got to see the happy ending as my shift finished at 10pm.  So I’d watch until I reached a level of terror that turned me to a quivering wreck, but miss the bit at the end where calm is restored and your heart rate returns to normal.   I invariably left the cinema looking over my shoulder.  Once home, too scared to go to sleep  with the light off.

 

 

 

image.jpegWe worked there for the Summer and left when school started back in September.  Mary went off the projector guy anyway.

The Six Stages of Spanx

04 Wednesday May 2016

Posted by niftyfiftyshades in Beauty, Etiquette, Fashion, Humour, lifestyle, Midlife, Shopping, Uncategorized

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Fashion, funny, midlife, spanx, women

A friend of mine recently posed the question.  Should women of a certain age ditch the silky smalls  and embrace Spanx on a full time basis?

With a family wedding approaching I must use whatever means of deception available to me to ensure smooth lines.  While I’m a great proponent of the big Bridget Jones knickers (my secrets out) I find I’ve reached the stage where I need to progress to something stronger.  I intend taking myself into Brown Thomas’s to seek out some industrial strength elastic.

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For the uninitiated,  let me guide you through  The Six Stages of Spanx.

  1. image.jpegThe Decision:  Will I won’t I?  Weighing up the pros and cons. If you find that your cellulite is visible through thick skirts, or your posterior resembles a lumpy loot bag, well I guess the answer is yes. But then again, you are quite fond of breathing, and would like to continue to breath in the future. The thing is, although they look awful, the latest hi-tech engineered fabric prevents all lumps and bumps from showing through even the flimsiest of clothing. The resulting svelte outline a joy to behold. They make a Primark dress look like Dior (I may be exaggerating a little). Regardless of whether you are overweight or not, we can all benefit from a smooth sleek silhouette. Never mind what you look like underneath, never mind that you will sweat, blister, feel like a stuffed sausage and cease to breath. Pay no heed to the fact that your organs are being squashed or that your legs are numb. These crucial side effects will be duly ignored in the debate. Should you embrace your inner Bridget Jones? You will decide that the answer is YES. Don’t imagine you’d get a look in with the likes of Mark Darcy with an arse the size of small country.image
  2. Choosing:       Beware of some classic mistakes.       Never wear the long cycling short type under trousers. The legs roll up and look unsightly. Never try to overdo it. If you are size 14 don’t buy size 10 determined to squeeze into them. You might succeed in getting them on, but like a biological game of musical chairs, the unwanted wobbly bits have to go somewhere, usually up.       You could end up with an unsightly double chin, or an extra pair of boobs. Also bear in mind that they have to come off at some point. Remember what happened to the style icon herself, Bridget Jones. She wore a corset that rolled up at the both top and bottom, resulting in a perfect not so little roll around the middle.
  3. imageThe Religious Experience: Spanx are a gift from God. Once a devotee, you may never leave home without them again. Spanx worship is a common phenomena.
  4. The Secret: No bungee jumping, rock climbing, foxtrotting, breathing normally. No one must know you are wearing them.  Life must be put on hold to prevent a glimpse of your hidden elastic. No one must suspect your addiction to it.
  5. Admission:    Eventually the enormity of the secret will cause a meltdown and you will admit to wearing them. A friend will notice you are wearing a lot of tight fitting clothes of late and question where the tents have disappeared to. ‘OK..I’m wearing them’ you will snap.
  6. imageWeaning off Elastic: Wearing Spanx eventually leads to a lifelong addiction to elastic. The day may come when you decide to let it all hang out, and you won’t be prepared. An exit strategy should be considered.    I understand that there are programs where you can be weaned off elastic, but none with any great success that I’m aware of.

 

 

 

“However, chances of reaching crucial moment greatly increased by wearing these scary stomach-holding in pants, loved by grannies all over the world”  ..Helen Feilding.  Bridget Jones Diary

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Finding The One

26 Tuesday Apr 2016

Posted by niftyfiftyshades in Etiquette, Humour, lifestyle, Midlife, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

family, funny, Love, midlife, women

The institution of marriage is a serious business and should never be enterprised lightly or wantonly according to my good friend Mrs. Mills.

A report in yesterday’s Dail Mail claims that an algorithm has been developed to find Mr. Perfect.  Whisky Tango Foxtrot!!

image.jpegWhat to look for in a man? Brave, intelligent, suave, sophisticated, thoughtful, kind, handsome, funny?  Wrong, solvent, hygenic and not afraid of the odd bit of housework .   Find a man who can keep you in the style you would like to become accustomed to who doesn’t have his own personal odour.  Forget GSOH or SWM, when placing your personal ad in The Farmers Journal include HLOD(has loads of dosh) and DS (doesn’t smell).

As an expert on such matters, I feel it’s my duty to share other qualities often overlooked when it comes to choosing your man.  No need to resort to dodgy matchmaking sites making dubious claims while charging an arm and a leg.  Neither internet or algorithms have a place in cupids plans.  Ignore my counsel at your peril.  My advice has over the years prevented many an unsuitable attachment

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  1. imageYou may need a measuring tape for this one. A man may be judged on the length of his sideburns. Sideburns should never exceed 4 cm in length.    I recommend carrying a small ruler or measuring tape on your person on first dates. Immediately discount any potential suitors overstepping the mark. When it comes to the sideburn rule, all severities in (even Bridget has to ask Mark Darcy to reconsider the length of his sideburns).

 

 

image2. The correct level of forgetfulness. A man should never remember anything you say, but still retain the ability to remember anniversaries and birthdays.

 

3. The perfect man should suffer from body dysmorphia, when it comes to his partner that is. He will always view you as ‘a mere slip of a thing’, regardless of your weight or size. The words ‘fat’, ‘chubby’, ‘stout’, ‘well rounded’, ‘child bearing hips’ will never pass his lips. These words will simply fail to exist in his vocabulary.

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image4. A man should never let the side down on the dance floor. The ability to tango or quick step should be held in the highest esteem. This shows an innate talent to interpret and communicate feelings through the physical form. Word of warning though, draw the line at sparkly unitards if your man is over the age of 24. Mr. Fifty loves nothing more than to start the day with an invigorating foxtrot.

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5. A man should be able to hold his whiskey. This comes in useful if you’ve had more than a few ‘lemonades’ and need a steady hand to guide you home.   If just doesn’t work if both you and your partner are a bit on the wobbly side.

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image6. A man should never indulge in excessive grooming. Anything more than a haircut every 6 weeks is vulgar excess.  Remember, the entire household grooming budget is for you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

image7. Never date a man who wears socks with sandals, a clear sign of a deeply disturbed mind.

 

 

 

 

MCDOCEL EC042

OCEAN’S ELEVEN, George Clooney, 2001, © Warner Brothers

7. If your suitor answers to last name Clooney, first name George, discount numbers 1, 4,2 and 5 above. Also 3 and 6. He’ll do just fine.

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Some ideas for personal ads?

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Inner Poise

20 Wednesday Apr 2016

Posted by niftyfiftyshades in Beauty, Humour, Uncategorized

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Tags

Etiquette, funny, women

imageDo you feel angry more often than you should?

Do you sink into despair simply because it’s Monday, or let a bad hair day ruin your life?

What you need is inner poise.  Mere mortals may seek to attain this most elusive of traits, but to a true domestic Goddess its second nature.  Inner poise is about self respect, class, appreciation, etiquette.

 

 

Follow these simple guidelines to help you cope with the trials of everyday life. Watch how it brings joy and sunshine to everything you touch.

 

imageEnsure chocolate levels are kept up.  I recommend 500g of chocolate or two Walnut Whips daily.

 

 

 

 

imagePractice wearing a crown.  A tiara will do if you can’t get hold of the crown jewels.  I recommend you begin with walking around the house, carry out your normal housecraft wearing your crown before attempting to venture outdoors.  This will ensure excellent posture, a prerequisite to inner poise.

 

 

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Acquire a pet.  Preferably a poodle which adds a touch of style and glamour to your disposition.  It has the added benefit that you won’t have to shake hands with any local riff raff you may encounter while going about your business.  A snarling pooch will keep unwanted approaches at bay.

 

 

 

 

imageTake a yoga class. A guaranteed shortcut to inner poise, while meeting interesting people.

 

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Dress impeccably, remember less is more.

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Embrace adventure.  Try extreme ironing if you haven’t already.  I’m not exactly sure why this helps to develope inner poise, but it works for me.

 

 

 

image.jpegNever utter the words ‘Um’ Yea’, ‘Hi’ or ‘Yo’.  Acquaint yourself with the terms ‘Hello’ and ‘Yes’.

Always insist that your date picks you up.  A gentleman will always open doors for a lady with inner poise.

bridgetjonesChannel your inner Bridget Jones.  Bridget’s unique brand of grace and poise is an inspiration to all.

imageReply promptly to dinner party invitations, RSVPs or declines. If you can’t attend have a good excuse to hand. I always say “I’m having my pearls restrung”, but “I’m having my toenails curled” or “I’d rather stick pins in my eyes” work equally well.

 

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Ditch the  wine in favour of pink champagne. Never ever drink beer, the drink favoured by the great unwashed, loved by tradesmen everywhere.  Champagne is the drink of smart sophisticates. You may find that the more of it you drink the more inner poise you feel.

 

 

 

Baggage Carousel Phobia

10 Sunday Apr 2016

Posted by niftyfiftyshades in lifestyle, Travel, Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Travel, women

imageI’m travelling to Berlin next week. I’m taking carry-on luggage only.

Waiting at the baggage carousel for my case to appear is a major stress factor for me. Like a deranged whacko  I break out in a cold sweat as soon as I hear the motors cranking up, shaking inside I cling to my better half to prevent hyperventilation. My neurosis is well founded. On a trip to Egypt some years ago, I  waited and waited at the carousel in Luxor airport but no case appeared. I still remember the horror of it, the trauma still fresh in my mind as if it happened yesterday.

As a present for a significant birthday, my husband booked a trip to Egypt, a luxury river cruise along the Nile from Luxor to Aswan. Visiting many wonderful sights along the way, Philae Temple, Valley of the Kings, Luxor, Karnak Temples, it promised to be a memorable trip. It was of course memorable but for all the wrong reasons.

imageAnticipating opulent old colonial chic I purchased a large new suitcase to accommodate my Nile wardrobe.  New swimwear, expensive sun creams, day dresses, deck shoes, ‘going out’ dresses, my diamonte earrings for sipping Pimms at 6pm (conventional wisdom dictates that one should never wear diamonds before the cocktail hour). You name it, it went in the case. A girl has standards and I had to look the part on my grand tour. We were booked onto a boat called ‘The Romance’ , described as having a sophisticated relaxed ambiance. What could be more perfect. We’re talking classy, none of your tacky cruise cabaret here.  A packed itinerary would ensure I got to show off even my floral tea dresses (afternoon tea would be served on deck at 4pm daily). I had the correct attire for any occasion even if like Agetha Christy I was called upon to solve the odd murder.

The case, way too heavy was placed to one side by the check-in lady with a big ‘HEAVY’ sticker plastered on top, beside the turquoise ribbon tied to the handle for easy identification. Off I skipped to the duty free, happy to unencumbered by a huge case.

I was beside myself at the other end, when no case was forthcoming. I anxiously searched as each person picked out their luggage, growing more agitated by the second, until finally the conveyer belt creaked to a halt. No turquoise ribbon in sight. The coach to bring us to the boat was waiting outside, while all tried locating my treasure chest. Eventually, after much form filling, I boarded the bus to glowering stares by the other passengers who were kept waiting.

imageWe arrived to the boat late at night ready to set sail at 10am the following morning. The next morning I put back on my crumpled clothes I’d worn travelling the day before. My shoes were not suitable for any grand tour. I looked around the boat, bereft at the sight of a pool on deck and me with not a bikini or swimming togs to my name. Baba, one of the porters working on deck felt sorry for me and insisted on taking be shopping before the boat sailed. I was about to hit the high street in Luxor. Suddenly feeling more optimistic, “I’ll pick up a bikini and flip flops as well as a couple of dresses”.

Well, not exactly, the city centre was crammed with tuk tuks flying about the busy streets. All women wore full black burka’s. Baba took me to his cousin’s shop called ‘Santa Clause’, the only shop selling Western clothes. On the one rail of available non burka clothes, I chose a couple of pairs of linen trousers, and 4 tee shirts. The trousers didn’t fit and the tee-shirts made from industrial strength thick cotton. The thickness of the cotton designed to protect my modesty.  Still, beggars can’t be choosers. No bikini’s, no kaftans, no sun hats, not a flip flop in sight. ‘Santa Clause’ wasn’t exactly baring gifts. No sun glasses, no makeup… I could go on.

Next stop, a shoe shop and Baba’s other cousin. Not really a shoe shop more of a plastic sandal shop. Cheap plastic bejewelled sandals that cost two pounds.

‘She needs knickers’, my esteemed companion whispered to Baba. This is not a simple matter. Nether garments must be kept under wraps, modesty prevents shops displaying such shameful items. I was taken down an alleyway to the side entrance of a dark shop. More cloak and dagger whispering, then many many boxes produced. The first box, peach frilly nylon was all that was on offer but that clearly wouldn’t do. As each box was opened, the same peach frills appeared. Despite the appearance of choice, there was none. So peach nylon it was. ‘7 pairs please’.

I returned to the boat with my purchases (which set me back a total of 28 quid).

For the next 7 days I traipsed around every Egyptian monument and temple in my plastic footwear, I belly danced in my cotton tee-shirts and in spite of everything, had an absolutely wonderful holiday. Actually, it was kind of liberating not to have to care about dressing up.

I would not want to repeat the underwear experience. The nylon was stiff and scratchy, and had tiny leg holes. I clearly remember suffering pins and needles when the blood supply to my legs was cut off, telephoning home and my sisters laughing themselves sick at my predicament. On the last day, I committed a crime. I’m ashamed to say I littered the Nile, throwing my horrible peach knickers overboard to float away forever.

Bad Trolley Etiquette

06 Wednesday Apr 2016

Posted by niftyfiftyshades in Etiquette, Humour, Shopping

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Tags

funny, midlife, parenting, women

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As a mother of three adult students who manage to consume several crates of bananas and many cartons of eggs on a daily basis, not to mention whole boxes of cereal in one sitting (my middle son can munch on a bowl of seven Weetabix while waiting on dinner), supermarket shopping features heavily in my daily schedule in order to keep the larder stocked. Hence, I consider myself an expert on trolley etiquette. I’m talking supermarket trolleys of course, not hostess trolleys, which incidentally I’m also an expert on, but let’s not digress, that’s way too deep and a whole separate blog.

imageFellow domestic Goddesses will be well versed in the intricacies of maneuvering through aisle traffic, but I’ll share my tips with those less informed. Let’s be clear about this, many a woman’s reputation has been ruined on the slip of a wheel or the destruction of an apple pyramid among the aisles of Fallon and Byrne. From extensive observation of supermarket behaviour, I have deduced that men are the root of all evil in the supermarket. All this dithering hither and yon, seeking out preferred items, not knowing their pilchards from their sardines, causing untold mayhem in the aisles, preventing women from sailing through the deli section unimpeded.

imageNo wonder men suffer more accidents when constantly subjected to trolley attack by women. Statistics show that tall, dark, handsome men are particularly accident prone, leading me to suspect the intentions of some.

imageSome younger women are equally misbehaved. On a recent excursion to the supermarket I encountered two young ladies in the pickle aisle taking selfies with the mini cucumbers, trolleys askew (preventing access to the mini gherkins). Such reprehensible behavour, I immediately jumped in, photobombing with a full size cucumber.

 

I think it’s high time I reveal Nifty’s difinitive guide to trolley etiquette.

imageDrive on the left. May cause confusion for visitors outside Ireland and the UK. I’ve written to the minister for Transport on the matter, requesting the installation of traffic lanes and possibly even traffic lights in all Supermarket aisles.

 

Greet people you know with a wave, smiling as you sail on by. If you meet your close friend who relays all the juiciest gossip, it’s perfectly acceptable to hog the aisle. Salacious gossip takes precedence over everything.

Make sure to pick up a fresh haddock, you may need it later.
Don’t stop at aisle intersections. Barge your way through. If you show weakness people with take liberties.

imageIf you reach for your favourite aromatic duck only to find another hand has grabbed it simultaneously, position your trolley to give a sharp prod to the ankles of your opponent. Again, this requires focus. Skilfully quide your trolley back down the adjacent aisle while your opponent is hopping on one foot. This manoeuvre works well for anyone who gets your goat up, young ladies wearing pyjamas, pretentious shoppers who loudly ask for Lobster Gazpacho at the deli counter.

 

Always use the express queue. The item limit is purely a precautionary measure. If challenged by someone behind, simply point at their basket asking loudly “Is that your haemorrhoid cream”.

image

If you happen to take a pineapple from the bottom of a pineapple mountain and it results in a fruit catastrophe, quietly retreat backwards to the adjacent aisle. If it’s a banana mountain in disarray, hide behind the next aisle and watch for slippages. A little amusement to brighten your day.

 

 

 

 

imageIf you are in a hurry it’s perfectly acceptable to skip the queue. Simply distract the person at the top of the queue by pointing outside shouting “Is that George Clooney”. At this point you swoop in with your trolley towards the cash desk, unloading your items on the conveyer belt before anyone can object. If anyone does complain, slap them across the face with your fresh haddock. It will usually stun for long enough to allow you to proceed unhampered.

 

Park in the trolley bay if you feel like it.

image.jpeg

Or you might come back to this.

image

 

Take out a subscription to receive the popular magazine Jolly Trolley Today.  I must say a more comprehensive and informative publication on this fascinating topic you won’t find. A must for any domestic Goddess worth her salt.

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Nifty

Read about my failings as I muddle through midlife

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