The Inner Monologue of a Twenty-Something-Woman

I ate ice-cream I didn’t want, and my boobs hurt. Being female utterly sucks sometimes. Wonderful and dreadful all at the same time. The emotions we have to run with on a daily basis are psychotic.

This morning my car was at the garage and mother picked me up for our random breakfast catch up. I was cold, calculated and matter of fact. Not in a nasty horrid way, just in a matter of fact way. I like this version of myself, she is ultimately the most honest – probably not the most tactful or most polite, or least sweary version of myself there is but still, honesty is best; most of the time.

Home again, waiting for man to finish on the phone and tell SKY where to shove their overpriced slow ass broadband. £50 a month + and we are getting the slow kind that lags out (not to mention the ever increasing bill). He didn’t so, politely my cold calculate, matter of fact personality decided to shout “Just bin it; it’s a load of crap, BT has a much better offer” several times in the background loud enough for the argumentative staff member to hear. Customer service = not so ‘service customer’ but more ‘annoy customer to the point of insanity’.

Picking up the old mini box, and paying the £150 bill for the much needed new wheel bearings, I was back to sweetheart again. Giggling with the mechanics as he told me I shouldn’t have been driving it for the last few months. And yes this is the second time this has happened this year. Maybe I was playing on the stereotypical ‘gender role’. Damsel in distress, who knows little to nothing about cars in the slightest. Yeah, some of that last statement is true. I will let you figure out which part.

Man and I walked to the village for something for a Birthday Gift Box idea I’m putting together for my nail wrap business. See how it goes. There is a sweet shop, not somewhere we’ve ever really been in before. But opposite there is also an ice-cream parlour. I can take or leave the stuff, but Man will eat an entire tub to himself if we have it in the freezer. With this in mind, I agreed for him to go back on our way past. And we did.

He asks me if I wanted anything. I told him no thanks. He walks in to the parlour and starts to order. The man who owns the shop is pottering around outside, a lovely chap. Starts chatting away, telling me a little about his day and other bits and bobs. Man shouts from inside the shop. Do you want anything. To which I reply no again; then he says the words I dread and love all at the same time. ‘But they have RED VELVET’

That’s it. Backed in to a corner but the shop owner and Man asking if I want ice-cream. I felt obliged. And I mean, it was red velvet after all. Never again will I go back to that place. It is a falsity. As nice as the ice-cream was, I didn’t want it.  I blatantly lied to myself, when I said yes. URGH. No excuse. So this was me being back to my normal, I’ll make everyone else happy self. I don’t like this side so much; it makes me feel guilty.

Three Saturday measure Cosmopolitans later, and feeling a little relaxed from the booze I get excited. Very, madly excited about all the ideas I have for the business. Very, madly excited because I got another order through the website. Like elated, excited and not even just excited.

Final emotion for the day was obsessive. We started with a new series, Stranger Things; and oh my good god. Done 5 x hour episodes already. Now I’m lying in bed with the window open because it’s too hot, I can’t sleep because I feel guilty about the ice-cream and I want to know more of what happens in Stranger Things AND to top it all off FEAR. My boobs feel like they are going to explode. Now I’ve heard of bloating just before your due to come on, even during…. But this bloating of the boobs can bugger right off. I swear I’ve gone up like three cup sizes in a couple of days. OWCH, actually don’t want to take my bra off in case they actually pop.

But because I am a woman; a never faltering, never failing, never quitting, woman. I will take off my bra and face the popping of breasts before 1am rolls round. I will face the fear, just as I faced all other personality/mood switches I’ve had today.

Hoping for easy Sundays with a little cooking (and no ice-cream).


L xox

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