Today, I entered into the age old practise of the Easter Egg Hunt. Or the Mum Suddenly Thinks It's Okay To Eat Stuff Off The Floor O-Thon. As you may be new to this custom, I have decided to give you a run down of how things might pan out for you. You'll need small chocolate eggs, a novelty basket and a will to win.
(Futile bunny ears optional)
This interest in dangly adornments stemmed from when I thought I'd try being a A Hippy. Turned out that after a few shoeless months picking gravel and shards of bus stop out of my trotters I realised that I was, in fact, not Joss Stone, but a slightly overweight idiot wearing one earring and an air of working class desperation.
It is here.
I have waited seventy five weeks for this moment.
Five hundred and twenty five days have crawled teasingly past; 12600 hours have edged painfully along; 756000 minutes have dragged tauntingly by; and on every single follicly challenged one of them I have remained patient, resilient, focussed and unwavering in my longing for and pursuit of THIS VERY DAY.
Happy birthday Pam! Mum, Dad and I wish you many happy returns! We did make you some little cakes to celebrate but we all decided you really wouldn't like them, so as our gift to you, lovely lady, we ate them all. No worries. And as you were otherwise engaged on your big day, I decided to outline the festivities you missed out on.
Congrats old bird!