engaged

I went to an engagement party last night.
The engagee was distressed as she’d had a spray tan put on, and they’d neglected to include her armpits in the spray. Every time she lifted her arms up, we were blinded by the whiteness of her alluring pits.

Coming in from Putneyfontein, London, I suppose one has to up one’s tan.
It was an old school girls vibe, where we all kinda of started freaking out over our ten year reunion that’s coming up.
Next year.
Oh my God, I’ve been out of school for nine years.
Now I don’t have a ring, or a permanent wiener that I go to bed with every night, to show off to my prospective classmates next year.

And thank fuck for that.
The more I realise it, the more I don’t want or need a man. Or his wiener, quite honestly.
Sure, maybe one day this will change. But right now, if it ain’t coming looking for me, then I certainly ain’t running after it.
Unless, it bumps into me with its mouth open, and upon so, looks me up and down, and breathes: "Why Peas....you're just marvellous." And he's hot and clever and funny and cultured and tall and has big muscles and and and.

Anyway.
But this is the age – the time has come – when my classmates start shacking it up with ring and pre-nuptials. The twenty-firsts have come and gone, we’re moving onto the next level.
And again, I’m convinced I’ll be Mad Aunty Peas at these people’s baby showers.
Sans man.
Who quaffs wine like water and tries to seduce the help, once everyone has retired to bed with their husbands.

That said, I tried to seduce Peas yesterday, and I came right. Score.

It’s the blog awards tonight. There’s a whole lot of scud-missiling going on betwixt the blogosphere right now, so let’s hope the place doesn’t get nuked.
Nice excuse for a few toots and a bit of a razzle though.
I will not perve the geeks. It’s my policy to stay on my chair the whole night and retain some control.