but am feeling sorry for myself.
I’ve broke my baby toe! Went out with a group of work friends Saturday night, the friends being in their twenties and me in my, er, slightly older all decided to go on a pub crawl.
I dressed in my new harem jeans and Jane Norman black and silver top and I felt the bee’s knees. Anyway, girl from the group approaches me in her figure-hugging dress with legs up to her pits, clear sparkling skin and with bum-checks as tight as a drum and boobs that pointed in the right direction, said I was looking really trendy and wished her mum would dress as trendily.
Hmmm I think that’s what they call a back handed compliment.
Anyway, they were a bunch of light-weights and I ended up being the only sober one there. Honestly, a coule of Malibu and cokes and they were all over the place. No stamina these days.
Ended up in a club and I, in my sober stupor, fell down a step and landed funny – although I didn’t laugh but that didn’t stop everybody else – and my poor used-to-be ignored baby toe took the brunt of my weight and it is duly looking like a burnt chipolata. And the worse thing? The only footwear I can bear on my feet are my neon yellow flurry slippers so a quick trip to the shops for a bar of Cadbury is out. The loan penguin bar isn’t real chocolate despite what anyone says!
Please leave sympathy for toe below.