Patched up

Yesterday morning, I woke up with the alarm, in my newly useless fashion. I stared into space, in silence with a coffee (ok, and a hangover after Sunday but we'll go into that after). Then the boy came down and asked me where his school cookery things were. Yep. Well, the chicken is still in the freezer, kid, and as for the recipe you're doing, that somehow I have to source, and yet everything I suggest you wrinkle your nose up at? Well, that recipe is still in the bowels of Google. I dared, yes, I dared to say 'Why didn't you remind me to take the chicken out last night?' - you know, because I was a bit tipsy. I could see the fury building in his face and his voice, not because he's a angry child, but because he can be a little bit stressy at times and he is in his final GCSE year. Plus - food. So Mr G diffused the situation by taking me to Morrisons to buy more chicken thighs. I quickly found a recipe that he agreed to. And we finished off at the chemist to pick up my HRT patches. Woop!

Once we were home, Mr G made me a coffee while I tackled War and Peace (aka the information leaflet included with the patch - it was looooooooooooong). Once I reached how and where to apply said patch, because I was chomping at the bit to get the bugger on, the sooner it was on, the sooner I become this 'brand new woman' that all my friends (and their husbands, lol) tell me that I will be. As I read out the destructions, Mr G said this. 

Me: It has to go on below the waist, you have to change the patch on a Thursday and then Monday and so on.

Mr G: Ok.

Me: You have to alternate the side of the body it goes on to. So, it has to go on a smooth, hairless part of my lower body.

Mr G: Huh, you're f**ked then...

Me: ... I'm going to go upstairs, and blunt your good razor.

So, the patch is on. I don't feel any different yet, but I do feel very tired. Not fatigued, nor exhausted, just good old fashioned tired. I know it's going to take some time for it to start doing its magic, and that's if it even works for me. 

Sunday, we lost our final play off game. We came back strong in the second half but it was too little, too late, sadly. Still, it was a season to be proud of, considering we were written off before we had even touched a ball. 

Karl Ashall and Warren Thompson had a guard of honour from both teams on their final game, which was a nice touch. 

Today was Mr G's second day off and the weather was atrocious, I was tired and so he suggested Netflix, chill and a carb coma. So, that's what we did in the afternoon, closed the curtains, he lit the tea lights and we snuggled on the sofa and watched an Adam Sandler and David Spade comedy that we hadn't seen. Quite amusing, sometimes you just want a silly laugh, don't you? Doesn't have to be award winning, just puerile humour.