Ask Millennium Housewife!

Crikey a month goes by quickly. It's that time again folks, dilemmas answered, life sorted, torments thwarted la la la, you get the gist. Here we go:

Maternal Tales asks:
Dear Millennium Housewife, I've just realised this morning that my child has nits, but I sent her to school anyway. Does this make me a bad mother?

Millennium Housewife writes:

Dear MT, It would be far too easy to say, in a nutshell, yes, this makes you a Bad Mother. Who in their right mind would send their little darling to school covered in lice if there wasn't an end of year prize in it for them? Obviously if there is a prospect of a prize then this action makes you a positively stupendous mother; willing to risk your child's ostracisation and subsequent mental health in order to get that trophy up on the specially made trophy shelf (which heretofore has held only the pasta shell trophy you made yourself just to have something to put there/show off to your friends), so well done you.
But let's look at this more closely. What, really, constitutes a Bad Mother? At what point do we slide from slightly slummy, to downright dirty? I mean, to start with you noticed your child had nits, that's brilliant! Close Observation skills are coming along nicely, as is the Identification, but not the Elimination, side of your parenting lessons. Another well done is due here I think, and feel free to make another pasta shell trophy, it will really mean something this time.
However, just before you go rummaging in the dry goods cupboard (you do have one of those don't you, it's not just all stuffed under the sink?), you need to consider the circumstances of the aforementioned Close Observation skills. There may be a point in considering when exactly your child contracted nits, and how long therefore it took you to notice them. Of course, if the nits had reached such gargantuan proportions that you first noticed them as they leaped tall buildings in a giant leap, or that their weight was causing your child neck problems that no neck brace seemed to fix, or indeed that they had been there so long that they had developed their own society complete with currency and language, then I suggest you put down that fussilli and consider your shortcomings.
Or, if you would like a more user friendly, and downright easier suggestion, I always find a great deal of comfort in denial, and removing my contact lenses for five days out of seven. Do that and you can place your child's nit ridden head to your guilt free bosom and claim Good Motherhood.
I know which I'd do.



Mud In The City asks:

Dear Millennium Housewife, my new washing machine is being held hostage by the delivery man. I am very close to running out of clean pants. Please help.

Millennium Housewife says:

Dear Mud, firstly I read your blog, and I know that you're a girl (or else a man with serious gender issues, issues too huge to be dealt with in this blog, so sorry if that's where you wanted me to go with this), and girls wear knickers, not pants. Boys wear pants, they're stretchy and large, often with a Y front and usually sport a little wet spot at the front. They also wear boxer shorts, like loose pants, normally slightly larger but still have that little wet spot. In extreme cases boys also wear comedy boxer shorts, that's right, boxer shorts with funny things on them. To make you laugh (hence the comedy title). I'm not sure of the usefulness of these, they seem to serve little or no purpose except to the wearer, who unless he wears a brand new pair every day, with a brand new joke on them, surely tires of the same old gag morning after morning. So the only reason I can see is to entertain anyone daring to enter the boxer short zone, and, surely, that's not the kind of entertainment he was hoping to provide. He's taken time, chatting, wooing, working all his tricks to get her into bed, probably spent a fair amount of his mortgage and made up the equivalent amount about his life to find himself in the desired position of being allowed to take each other's clothes off. Imagine then his consternation when the object of his desires finally (finally!) gets to the boxer short taking off bit, only to laugh uproariously and loudly when looking down there. Is that going to do anything for a chap's self esteem? In a word, no, unless he is using them as a decoy so that when presented with what's under the boxer shorts she is too laughed out to repeat the gesture. In which case they're a brilliant idea.
Anyway, unless the delivery men are threatening to cut off your washing machine's ear or some such grisly thing, I suggest you let them hang onto it and get yourself to Marks and Spencer for some knickers. They look so much better with bras.


Working Mum On The Verge (I think she means on the verge of a crises, I don't think she's parked permanently on a verge) asks:

Dear Millennium Housewife, How can I eat my five-year-old's Easter eggs without her realising? How come she has some left? And how come she knows exactly what she has left?

Millennium Housewife writes:

Dear Working Mum (and greetings to your verge, if indeed that is where you are sitting). Firstly you've asked three questions, a little greedy quite frankly, but then that is what we are talking about isn't it? Greed. You have already eaten your own Easter eggs, and now your prudent and restrained child is going to have to pay the price by donating hers. I know how you feel, and here's how to do it:

• Send five year old to granny's/school/friends/her room for the day
• Take all left over eggs out of packaging
• Make a mould of all pieces of chocolate by pressing it in playdoh
• Remove chocolate from mould so you are left with an impression on the chocolate
• Create a paste from flour and water adding enough gravy browning so that the colour resembles chocolate
• Place paste into the playdoh moulds and put in airing cupboard for two hours
• Once two hours are up, carefully remove playdoh from the chocolate paste
• You are left with an identical set of chocolate pieces as the original chocolate
• Place fake set back in original wrappers
• Eat child's chocolate
• Let child eat fake chocolate
• Consider it a lesson in healthy eating/being too slow at eating Easter eggs

Enjoy.

Send your dilemmas to the comments box or email me at millenniumhousewife@yahoo.co.uk

New Balls Please

I would just love to keep you all guessing about who it is exactly that needs the new balls: The Dog or The Husband? You decide (if you want to imagine the last bit in a Big Brother stylee voice you may do, it adds to the ambiance).

But I think to leave you all without an answer would be cruel. More cruel than lopping off a man/dog's balls? It depends on where you're standing, and I'm standing next to the surgeon, on her toes, making sure she does it right. And thoroughly. With an extra scrape just to make sure she got all of it. Ha! take that super sperm, and that! I could be the champion of Sperm Space Invaders zapping all I see with the surgeon's scalpel, ferreting out any malingerers with my supersonic eyesight and lightening reflexes. Ah the joy.

Anyway, just before any of you start cheering and whooping me on, adding up the scores as we contemplate the childbirth v vasectomy debate and thinking that Husband finally succumbed to going Where No Man Should Ever Go (TM) I'm afraid it was the dog who went first. Just so he can try it out and let me know what it's like reasoned Husband. It was a hefty argument, especially when garnished with the fear of never being able to go commando again in case the seams rub the scar. Quite. The thought of never again discovering that Husband had gone commando on a romantic night out/black tie dinner/friend's intimate soiree/business lunch/work day would be enough for me to book the vasectomy, children or no children. But he was adamant: not yet, maybe later, I'm going to use the same phrase as my own contribution to our contraception. I do feel for him though, really I do, enough to book myself a spa weekend and shopping trip to Monaco.

So it was poor old Twizzle's turn, yet again the family experiment (ooh I think a dog would be lovely, lets get one and see), I took him in the car after a last breakfast of his favourite sausages. Husband says getting the dog to eat sausages was cruel and metaphorical but I swear Twizzle didn't decipher any hidden meaning in what was, I swear, his favourite food.
Husband refused to come lest I'd organised a sting operation where the minute he entered the vet's a Big Burly Man would wrest him to the ground and clamp a large white chloroformed hankie to his face. "Surgeon and nurse Stat!" he'd yell as Husband struggled, watery eyed, eventually succumbing to going under but not before attempting to cross his legs in one last, futile attempt at defiance. The final indignity being the nurses carrying him into the surgery, legs akimbo, giggling as they compared him to the Persian cat they did this morning.

Husband waved us off at the door instead with a white hankie, yelling at Twizzle to send him a postcard and reminding me to remind the surgeon not to spare the knife. "It'll soon be over" he yelled cheerfully, glass of Champagne swilling over the drive,  "I can't wait to hear all about it".

Twizzle meanwhile was oblivious to it all, big spaniel tail wagging furiously at the adventure he was going on, mild curiosity as to why the children had been left at My Mother's, but hey ho, it must mean he's really important and special which of course he is. Even more so with out his balls.

So Twizzle as we know him is no more, a couple of pounds lighter and a little more worldly wise than at the beginning of that fateful car journey. He's doing well though and has assured Husband that he's got absolutely nothing to worry about. Not only did it not hurt but Husband won't have to wear the stupid cone he's got round his neck. He thinks it's ruining his chances with the ladies.

Things I have said To My Parents Today

• I'm fine
• No I'm just eating a sandwich so I sound a little muffled
• No really I'm fine
• I know I shouldn't eat on the phone
• No don't call me back I'll put the sandwich down
• Peanut butter
• I don't have a nut allergy
• Why would I need an adrenaline pen if I don't have an allergy?
• But I don't need one
• Shirley's daughter has one because she's allergic to nuts
• I'm not allergic to nuts
• There's no could be about it, I'm not allergic
• OK I'll go to the doctors tomorrow and ask her for an allergy pen
• She'll laugh at me you know
• I know she wouldn't be laughing if I went in dying of a nut allergy
• No thanks you don't need to come with me
• Yes everything else is fine
• How many times do I what?
• Sorry, I thought you asked how often I was mating
• You did
• What kind of question is that?
• I don't care if Oprah said it was a good indication of the state of a marriage
• It's just not something you ask
• I'm not telling you
• This conversation is not happening
• la la la la la la la
• About three times a week
• Well I'm glad Oprah thinks that's healthy
• I'm really not interested in how often you and dad mate
• I said I wasn't interested
• Please stop discussing dad's mating habits
• In the shed?
• I really wish you hadn't told me that
• No don't put him on I really don't want to know
• Hi dad
• I really don't want to know
• I don't care whether you were alone or not
• Well Mother gets these weird ideas
• Just stop her watching Oprah that should do it
• Yes I'm sure you are missing a good night's sleep
• It's just a phase it'll be something else next
• Yes hopefully something to do with growing tomatoes

Ask Millennium Housewife!

It has come to my attention that a lot of you need help. A lot of you need a lot of help. Due to the credit crunch and the lack therefore of ready cash I am offering a brand new service on this blog called Ask Millennium Housewife! A cheap alternative to the therapy you all so obviously need every month right here.
Now, I don't claim to be qualified in any way, or indeed be more able than you are to solve your problems but having spent years solving my own problems I thought I'd give yours a shot. So how about it? Free advice from someone of thirty odd years of experience? Not to be sniffed at I tell you.
Anyway, in true Blue Peter style a few Facebook friends have been asking advice for a while so I'll start with them. I don't know that they meant their problems to be solved quite so publicly so I'll use initials, you know who you are.

K. from Newcastle writes:
Dear Millennium Housewife, my two year old daughter appears to be more popular than me and it's worrying. Help!

Millennium Housewife writes:
Dear K, you are right to be worried, no one likes being upstaged by a two year old, there's plenty of time for that when she turns eighteen and you realise she's the one everybody is wolf whistling at and you're the haggard old woman reflected in the shop window. However, all toddlers are popular, so I doubt that the problem lies with your daughter being more popular than average. Oh, no, I think the problem may lie with you being less popular than average. It may be time to have a long hard think about things. For instance, when looking in the mirror are you simply relieved to see at least one friend? Do you fore go deodorant? Toothpaste? A daily shower? Do your eyebrows knit in one long loo brush like shape? Do you, perchance, have a penchant for growling while walking, swinging one arm madly while hunching over a pine cone? Think about it, a 'yes' to any of the above may be the answer to your problem.
If you have an 'other half' (a real flesh and blood one, not the one you talk to loudly between growls in the park) you could ask him/her to watch out for any of the signs I've mentioned and try to correct them
When you've established the cause of your unpopularity and taken steps to remedy it, take your toddler to the park and attempt to make friends by smiling and nodding to people. Don't forget to put down your pine cone and tie your arm to your side, you'll look a lot more approachable this way.
When people smile back at you, attempt a light conversation along the lines of the weather or what day it is (make sure you know what day it is or this bit may fail). Smile and nod a lot, but you're going for friendly and approachable remember, not friendless and worried you might be unhinged, even though that appears to be true.
Hope this helps. MH

J from Solihull writes:
Dear Millennium Housewife, I have a friend who runs too fast, what can I do?

Millennium Housewife writes:

Dear J, I know you, and I know the friend you are talking about. You may find that this friend's Husband is dangling a large bottle of Chardonnay in front of her to help her run fast, the old donkey and carrot trick rarely fails. Simply remove the wine from in front of your friend and all should be well. Better still dangle the wine behind her and watch her reverse. Hours of fun. MH

B from Warwick writes:
Dear Millennium Housewife, I am finding myself less and less inclined to go to the gym, but when I don't I end up putting on a lot of weight. Do you have an answer for me?

Millennium Housewife writes:
B, I think you just need to see this in a whole new light. Surely there is a way to eat a lot, not put on weight and not go to the gym? There is, and I'm going to share it with you.
Let us first look at the whale, a large creature admittedly, but perfect in proportion to what a whale should look like. But do you ever see a whale at the gym? Do whales ever congregate in the park for a spot of exercise? Do whales write to Millennium Housewife worrying about such things? In a word no. And why? Because they eat krill. That's right, they eat tiny tiny things all the time and never get fat.
So that's what you've got to do. Eat single celled organisms only and maintain that waist line forever. I suggest you start with amoeba and move on to other organisms as and when you feel your digestion can take it. Start in your neighbour's pond if you haven't got one yourself and swim slowly and gently around with your mouth wide open at all times collecting as much amoeba as you can. Repeat this everyday to prevent hunger pangs and try to keep it up in your sleep too. If whales can do it, you can. Good Luck MH

Things I Have Said To My Husband Today

• Yes I know you try, I just thought we could make it a rule
• You're very good at putting your suit ready for the dry cleaners
• And checking the pockets, yes
  
• It's just that today at the dry cleaners your underpants flew out of your trousers and hit the dry cleaning lady in the face
  
• Followed by your socks
  
• It was not her lucky day it was really embarrassing
  
• Well could you check your clothes for underwear before putting them in the dry cleaning bag?
  
• And while we're at it could you put your underwear in the dirty washing basket
  
• It's in the laundry
  
• Next to the kitchen
  
• In the kitchen there's a door, behind it is the laundry
  
• I'll show you
  
• No I won't take your underwear while I'm at it
  
• What do you mean Camilla wouldn't make you pick up your underwear?
  
• Camilla's your secretary
  
• I know she thinks you're great but that doesn't prove the underwear thing
  
• No we're not calling her to ask
  
• Put the phone down
  
• I said put the phone down

Things I Have said To Camilla Today

• Hi Camilla
  
• Yes I know
  
• Sorry he called
  
• It wasn't a row I just wanted him to pick his underwear up
  
• You would make him if you lived with him I swear

Things I Have Said To My Husband Today

• That was really embarrassing
  
• No not as embarrassing as the pants hitting the dry cleaning lady in the face
  
• Yes nearly as embarrassing as you mentioning vibrators in front of My Mother
  
• She still asks about that you know
  
• About what it is
  
• And how one might use one
  
• And where one might buy one from
  
• And whether my Dad might like one for Christmas
  
• I know you said they were fun
  
• Well she thinks it's some kind of hand warmer
  
• And that maybe Dad could use one at the football in the winter
  
• Well yes it does get quite chilly
  
• You're missing the point
  
• You've opened a whole Pandora's box
  
• One where My Mother uses the word vibrator liberally and without restraint
  
• Not just at Church
  
• At the supermarket in front of the cream cakes
  
• Well it put me off cream cakes for a start
  
• Maybe you're right
  
• OK, get her one for Christmas and let her solve it for herself
  
• Just don't let Dad take it to the football

Things I Have Learned When Running Your First Ever 10km Race

1. You are there to do your best, not win, so run as slowly as you can, in fact walk if you feel like it.
2. If older/fatter/greyer people finish before you it's because of the drugs.
3. You can alleviate some of the boredom of long distance running by mentally calculating how many calories you will have burned once you reach the finish line. Don't forget to add an extra 200 onto the tally for luck.
4. Other people's bottoms wobble, don't laugh and point.
5. Never, ever announce you're going to do a Paula Radcliffe and pretend to drop your drawers by the side of the road, your running buddies won't find it funny and may run off leaving you behind with half your bottom hanging out and a salvation army man approaching with a Stern Look.
6. When running past official race photographers remember to watch where you are going rather than trying to angle them your best side, they also don't take kindly to requests for another shot in case you angled that one badly.
7. The refreshment stand does not serve ice cream.
8. Race marshalls who shout enthusiastically that you can do it should not be punched in the mouth.
9. Any questions regarding an alleged punching of a race marshall in the mouth can wait until the end of the race, whatever the policeman says.
10. If your friend finishes 10 minutes ahead of you ignore her for one week. It's her own fault for doing more training.
11. At some point if you really feel you're ready to quit, imagine the pain and humiliation of handing Husband the £10 he bet you.
12. Short cuts will not be tolerated. Nor will attempts to bribe the race marshal.
13. Organisers will not stop the clock for you if you decide to have a bit of a sit down. Even if you cry.
14. Do not say beep beep in a condescending way to someone you are overtaking, they will overtake you later and laugh.
15. Do not be discouraged when being overtaken by a large, vertical armadillo.
16. On the final 100m it is futile to try to claw back 10 minutes by running really fast.
17. Never, I repeat, never question the accuracy of the Official Clock, they can take your medal away.
18. There isn't any chocolate in the goody bag.
19. A muesli bar does not make up for lack of chocolate.
20. The medal isn't made of gold. And isn't worth it.
21. The fish and chips, plus donut, on the way home really, really is.

Things I Have said To my Sat Nav Today

• Ah, let's see
• Errr is this the right button?
• OK I think that's it
• Take me home you honey
• I would have gone left there but hey ho
• Are you sure?
• Right?
• I think it's left
• Right I'm going left
• Yes yes yes you recalculate away my dear
• Still recalculating? Ah well
• Please don't use that tone with me
• I'm telling you it isn't straight on here
• I don't care what you say it isn't straight on
• I saw that look
• I'm going right
• You can recalculate as much as you like, it'll pass the time while I'm getting us home
• Ssh please I'm trying to think
• That's it I'm turning you off
• Ahh much better
• Err, hello again could you have a look at your map and see where we are?
• Which way now?
• Well you're the one with the map, you figure it out
• If you'd just concentrate on where we're going rather than constantly pointing out where I'm going wrong you might get better results
• You'll be starting on my driving next
• Don't give me the silent treatment you know it drives me mad
• Right, you sulk away while I try and get us out of here
• Which way?
• Stop sulking
• Do you want to drive?
• I said Do. You. Want. To. Drive?
• Right that's it, you're driving
• Hurry up I'm not standing here in the cold forever
• Oh I see, too chicken
• Perhaps I could have a bit of respect for the rest of the journey
• Now which way?
• Right you say? OK, but you'd better be right
• Ah yes I see where we are now
• Yes yes well done
• But you are quite annoying
• Well done for getting us home
• Please stop talking now we're here
• Yes I know we've reached our destination, I'm pretty good at recognising my own home
• Now you're just rubbing it in

Boxing Clever

OK, so in order to tell you all about this I'm going to have to mention Unmentionables, those things that perhaps one might perchance enjoy as a way of keeping a relationship alive (a married respectable one you understand). Things that, once children come along are removed hastily from convenient bedside drawer to The Box At The Back Of The Cupboard and dusted off on anniversaries and Christmas, ok then, just anniversaries, sorry anniversary. So if you're easily offended move your eyes downward to the *.
So my friend, we'll call her Claire, and her Husband has such a box of Unmentionables, and it was an anniversary recently to boot, so you could imagine the scene here to be set the morning after the night before. As indeed it was. Sunday morning, bleary eyed, Husband and Claire woke from a slightly drunken sleep grunting and aiming kicks at each other to see who would cave first and go and get the children. Rubbing his shin and mentioning something about her going down to get the tea he lolloped off in her dressing gown to allow the children to get out of bed. And here is where the fatal error was made. He brought the children into the bedroom, failed to reawaken her to demand tea and set off downstairs himself to make it. I mean how selfish? How long would it have taken him to scan the bedroom floor for a hint of Unmentionable action left out from last night before heading down to make her tea? As Her Mother says, staff these days aren't what they used to be.
Anyway, cut to ten minutes later and the family are sitting in bed enjoying Sunday morning, tea in bed, a bit of play before getting up and starting the day. A scene you could have taken from the Waltons had they shown everyone saying good morning to each other rather than goodnight. Except of course I doubt within that scene, Ma and Pa had a live box of Unmentionables on the bedroom floor (now Grandpa on the other hand...). Just as they're finishing the last gulp of tea Five year old daughter decides that Now is a good time to get up and leaps off the bed straight into the path of The Box. Oooh she said, who got this down (Husband, she swears) it's the box from the back of your cupboard isn't it mummy? She paused and stretched her little hand out to open the lid of the box.
Husband and Claire turned almost imperceptibly towards each other, the world stopped for a brief, agonising second, birds muffled silence in the trees, a startled dear lifted her head, curious. The air stayed solid around the scene, no movement allowed in or out as they waited, waited for the Earth to intake a breath, and as she did ravens cawed around the roof, ominous in their calling. It was Parent verses Child: Parent's ability to think quickly and concisely verses a five year old's dexterity fuelled by curiosity. They had milliseconds to act, to formulate a thought, form it into a sentence, wait for it to travel across time and space, enter the ear of a five year old and (here comes the tricky bit) register strongly enough to stop said five year old opening the box and beginning what they could only imagine would be their toughest question and answer session to date. This, unfortunately would probably climax (sorry) at five year old choosing a choice item from the box behind their backs and taking it to school for show and tell.
Claire was just about to yell No! in an authoritative I'm The Mummy And You Do As I Say kind of voice which rarely ceases to fail, when in one second of pure unadulterated panic Husband yelled out No! don't open it, it's got your birthday presents in!
Five year old's hand quivered, then stopped, she turned to them, eyes shining, mouth grinning: really? she squealed, is this where Santa keeps my Christmas presents too? Husband turned to look at Claire, the realisation dawning (slowly) upon him as to what he'd done. The sense of pride and acheivement he had been wearing for the briefest of seconds sloughing off his face like a hot wax mask, only to show the horror and confusion underneath. Claire sat there, unswallowed mouthful of tea sitting on her tongue and began a slow hand clap at the effort. Five year old's eyes were positively dancing with delight as she considered what she thought she had unearthed. Not only was this the Mysterious Box At The Back Of The Cupboard, the one where even on a chair and on tiptoe she could only tickle with her fingers, but this was also a Magical Box, a Mysterious Box, the box which held her presents, the box that Santa Himself used to store her Christmas presents.
They could see her thoughts sparking out of her head, cue circus music: de de de de di di di as laughing, dancing clowns came out juggling Barbies, elephants wearing frilly skirts snorted sweets all around, dancing bears and trapeze artistes whirled about the room, the marvellous, the magical, the invincible Box bore witness to all fantasies a five year old treasures. A Box of Delights.
Claire told me this story behind her hand (knowing full well that I was taking mental notes for this blog). So, dutifully I have blogged it, I hope her Husband recognises himself. Well done Husband, you have just managed the unmanageable; made an innocuous and pretty much invisible cardboard box into The Most Exciting Box In The World. Hurrah. To be fair though, he's right whatever he shouted, it did do the job. Though there'll be a fair fewer of those on offer around there for a while.



*you can start reading from here

Things I Have Said To My Husband Today

• Here's your honey and lemon
• Of course I blew on it
• You think I'd say I blew on it when I didn't?
• Look, here, blow blow.
• There, it's cool now
• I know you're ill
• And I am being sympathetic
• Yes you're right, I would have made a rubbish nurse
• Because I just don't care enough
• Of course I care about you, just not your cold
• Yes, I'm well aware you might die without proper care
• Well I'm willing to take the chance
• Of course I'd regret not taking better care of you, it's just that no one to my knowledge has ever died of a runny nose
• What's that you're writing?
• We've already made a joint will
• What do you mean you're leaving it all to the dog
• You mean if I was nicer I'd get everything?
• Well I bought you a book up
• It's the sequel to Mister Bump
• I know how much you enjoyed it so I bought you Mister Tickle
• It's really good, he's got long arms
• See I do care
• Will you leave me the house?
• No, you can give the dog to my Mother

Where There's a Will There's a Way

So have any of you been thinking that I've been a little silent of late? Just a little? Go on, you can admit it, you've missed my comments, my neediness to be read, my general presence in the blogospehere. Or at least I hope you have. I have, for me at least been a little silent of late, not that I haven't been reading you all you understand, just not commenting. It's my own fault, ten days ago I spilt Olive Oil on my laptop, all over the letters hjlkuionmbgt, which as you can imagine are pretty integral to composing a post. I managed to fob you all off a little by reposting a hitherto unread post, but in reality I was stuck. I managed a few messages, hammered out with much frustration, before giving in (I've never been much of a grafter) and allowing you all to do the work and allowing me to sit back and just enjoy. It was quite pleasant really.

Anyway, it's felt like an age, and life is moving on. So what's been happening? Firstly I have a shiny, pink, new laptop, complete with ability to type hjlkuionmbgt which is pleasing. Secondly, I believe Husband and I have finally, painfully, slowly, reached what could possibly pass for adulthood. Forget buying a house, forget having children, forget even consolidating your debt for the first time, we have the ultimate test of adulthood: a will. And we made it ourselves, from a do-it-yourself will pack from WHSmith, in the kitchen. But no empty yogurt pots or double sided sticky tape were used so it looks pretty authentic.

It was quite good fun to start with, we opened a bottle of wine and sat thoughtfully, seriously, thinking about the Big Grown Up step we were about to take, of lives that would be touched, at the thought that our untimely demise would warrant such planning, such preparation, due of course to the importance we play in everyone's lives. It was a sober(ish) moment; one of contemplation and reverence.

Until of course we realised we could write anything we liked. Anything at all! After all weren't we grown ups? Sensible and mature enough to make our own decisions? Yes of course we were, we had all the other grown up things: kids, house, car, nintendo wii fit (unused), so what should we write? We contemplated a couple of scenarios; firstly simply putting All to Edna! and signing it. What fun to watch from the other side as everybody tried to figure out for the life of them (rather than the life of us) who on earth Edna was, and why was she getting our millions, (sorry, thousands, ok then hundreds)? Regard with mirth the Hunt For Edna, the scouring of the birth/marriage/death records for a likely match, the heated, enraged conversations at the dinner table about Edna's whereabouts and likelihood of her handing over the goods to the rightful next of kin. Ah, what a legacy to leave our beloveds; a never ending treasure hunt.

We also contemplated confessing that the jewel heist was hidden at Husband's best friend Matt's house so that we could watch the police prepare their raid, barge the door at dawn and rush in yelling, police! stand back! The icing on the cake of course (although we couldn't state this in the will, it would give the game away) would be Matt caught, boxers down, mid coitus, shaking violently and whimpering innocent, innocent as a stunning woman whom he'd been courting for years looked up, removed herself from the clinch and silently dressed, never to be seen again. Years of courting down the drain. Excellent.

Obviously, we didn't put any of this, why bother when we're not sure at all that we''d get to watch it all? We did though have to make all the surreal decisions about what happened to whom in the event of us passing. It was a pickle I can tell you, the opportunities to offend were everywhere. Every corner we turned presented us with another what if? case scenario where someone we loved/tolerated would be incredibly offended at our decisions. Until that is (cue second wide eyed revelation of the day) we realised that it didn't matter; we wouldn't be there to offend anybody. Ha! What a way to cause trouble with our relatives and get away totally scott free! The opportunities were endless. Pick a relative, any relative and say whatever you like, they can't ever ever answer back! Now that's what I call entertainment value.

In fact, thinking about it, I could have more fun than I ever imagined. I could admit to anything, (anything!) and get away with it. What was My Mother going to do about it? Ground me? No! Ha! No more grounding ever! For me or Husband. At last! A way to rid myself of my sins, cast out the fire of wrong doing and start again, clean and renewed. I would tell her about the time Shirley the-Competition criticised her flapjacks at the Church fete because she'd found a plaster in the middle of one. My plaster. Put in deliberately. Or I'd tell her how I'd always secretly agreed with dad about the kitchen wallpaper - it did remind me of slime, or about the time she found an image of our dog Barry in one of her chrysanthemums and sent me to the post office to send it to the readers section of the Daily Mail. I never sent it. I was too embarrassed to write chrysanthemum with image of our dog Barry on the contents section of the parcel label. My Mother stopped taking the Daily Mail after that. Every cloud.

I could even, even, (huge gulp at the posiibilities of life after death) haunt her, appear in her dreams as a phantom voice, wake her in the middle of the night as a ghostly apparition floating ghoulishly at the end of the bed. Crikey I could even swamp her in ectoplasm a la Ghostbusters and watch as she lamented ever discussing my first period with Dan Hutchin Crush Of All The First Years.The possibilities stretched out like a long, glitter filled road, of redemption, revenge, and best of all no consequences. Life, it seemed was finally worth living. What a bargain; life lessons, revenge, redemption and a new appreciation for the Joy of Living. All for £2.94 from WHSmith.