Brit Bitches

practising the art of bitchary Brit style

A mothers time is most certainly not her own. October 31, 2011

Any of you mums out there will know that, when you pop out a baby, from that second onwards your time is no longer your own.

Never will you have a wee in the peace and tranquility your urine deserves, because the minute you release those pelvic muscles (well those muscles that weren’t destroyed by the trauma that is childbirth) and the wee starts to flow , you will suddenly hear the pitter patter of tiny feet, in my case the not so tiny patter of 8 and 5 year old feet.

So it begins ” Mum, you said we could have something out the sweetie jar, Mum you said I could go on the laptop!!

Its funny I don’t remember making any of these promises.

For some reason I always start to enter into dialogue with them, then suddenly, it strikes me, why am I sitting on the loo arguing about sweets surely the sweets can wait the 5 minutes that I have oh so selfishly alacated to myself!

The bathroom for us Mums is clearly know longer a relaxing tranquil environment in which to relax and have ME time, no, it is now a place to perform every day necessary functions such as going to the toilet and washing.

Speed is of the essence, as no member of your family ( I include the fully grown adult who shares the house with you, commonly known as The Husband, in that comment) can possibly do without your presence ( the real reason 2 in 1 shampoo was invented) for more than 5 minutes.

This weekend I was having one of those relaxing 5 minute shower breaks when in bursts Youngest son. He informs me he has something really important to tell me, so I listen incase someone has drowned in their frosties. Turns out its not that important, Daddy can’t find the controls!

I look at my darling boy, but he is all of a sudden distracted…….” Mummy why is your willy furry?”.

Ok, two things, must spend time explaining to youngest son that boys have willys and girls have bitbits ( at 5 vagina seems a little harsh!), and I really must book that waxing appointment!

 

Car jump! May 17, 2010

My hubby leaves for work at 3 am

Being the dutiful wife that I am, I always wave off my husband.

Bollocks, my car is in the way of his.

So off I trundle, in my dodgy stripey pj’s- man, I am looking mighty fine this morning.

I start the car, and………………….nothing. Just clicking.

Come on you bastard, please stART……………….

3 more attempts, and nothing.

Bloody bitch car, If you were a person, I’d bitch slap you with a giant foam hand.

You just don’t need this shit a 3 am in the morning, for fuck sake I wanted to go back to sleep, I’m tired! Oh yer, and the hubby needs to get to work.

Mr Smith jumps out of his car. I brace myself- clearly this is going to be my fault.

Hubby: “So what did you leave on?”

Oh so tired wife: “Nothing”, and I wasn’t even lying, there was nothing on in the car. Even I can’t lie that quickly at 3 am.

Hubby: “Must just have been having the doors open when you cleaned it yesterday”.

Ungrateful, slut of a car. I finely clean out the sess pool, which is your insides, and that’s how you repay me!

Fuck it.

Mental note: Keep the fucking car dirty, at least it might actually fucking work. Allowing me to get some fucking sleep.

Hubby: ” I’ll push, you steer”

Wife: ” Ok” I decide to do as I’m told, so far he has controlled himself, but one wrong move, or a slip of the tongue, might just push him over the edge.

I must be tired, normally pushing him over the edge, would be some kinda sport for me.

Anyway, he jumps starts the car.

It works -Hurrah!

Shit, no petrol to leave it running.

Will this be the moment that finely does him in.

Hubby: ” Right I’ll go ”

Woohoo! No petrol stop in the morning.

I really am a first class bitch.

Hubby returns. ” leave it running for 20 minutes, if it won’t start after that, the batteries fucked” Normally at this point, I would say something along the lines of No shit Sherlock or Do ya think???

I decide to keep it to a simple ‘ok, thank you’

Hubby drives off into the sunset, having dealt with the car situation in a reasonable manner!

My car is sick and obviously needs medical attention is this a good enough reason to chuck a sicky?

 

A feral break. May 13, 2010

The bell for break time is always a welcome sound.

Off you go kids, go fight and be delinquent out of my eye view.

A well needed coffee is calling.

So I’m catching up on some gossip with a friend.

When in walks Yoda, my ever-increasing purve of a boss.

Yoda: ” Jane, I think we need to give Sarah more support with Jack” (feral boy). By we, I assume you mean, me, as you choose never to leave your lair and actually interact with the kids.

Yoda: “Could you have him in with you for a few days a week”

Feral boy, err…no.

Thanks for the offer, but I think I’m going to have to turn you down on this one.

As tempting as spending hours shut in a room with him is, being barked at and stabbed with pencils.

The idea of having my face chewed on by a Rottweiler is more appealing.

This kid isn’t stupid, in fact his language skills never cease to amaze me.

Only today he flew around the dining hall calling random children ‘fucking dirty whores’.

With his speech impediment, that took some doing.

Mental note: Must mark of speech and language in his assessment file.

 

Stranger danger. May 3, 2010

My three-year old son has been learning about stranger danger.

Clearly he missed the important message that the police were giving out.

As we walked home.

A stranger approaches.

So Oscar shouts out ” Hello Stranger ” 

I close my eye and shake my head in despair.

He seriously believes, if he says hello to the stranger, then they are know longer a stranger.

Problem solved,  in his tiny mind!

Mental note: Must do more intensive work on stranger danger.

 

The Sloth parent. April 29, 2010

It makes me so cross. Grrrrrrrr

I was in the classroom, when in walked two of the persistently late kids.

“Sorry I’m late” she drones from the door. ” My dad wants to talk to you”.

Crap!  

The mans a fucking prick.

I smile and say ok, secretly thinking, if he wanted to speak to me then he should try getting his lazy fat arse out of bed earlier and speak to me before school. Rather than interrupt the entire class.

Twat!

Up I get, trying to take in multiple gulps of air.

My nazel passages are about to be violated.

I leave the room and sure enough, standing in front of me is the giant, dirty sloth of a man (I use the term man loosely, he’s more pig cross skunk beast ).

I deliberately stand as far back as possible, he fucking stinks, his humongous gut bulging over the top of his trousers and hanging out the bottom of his stained top.

I don’t want to make eye contact with him, but where do I look, he has dried toothpaste all around his mouth ( which kind of shocks me, so this family do have personal cleaning products who’d have thought it).

He starts moaning.

“Kileys brother as been given a behaviour book”  Yes, that’s because your shit parenting has made him feral.

” Kiley is feeling really left out, cause he keeps getting stuff when he’s good, and she don’t. So we were thinking, she could hav one as well” – No, fuckwitt, she can’t. I have better things to do with my time than panda to your fucking kids whims, cause you can’t control them.

I explain politely ( which pains me ) , that wasn’t possible due to the fact that she wasn’t badly behaved at school, yes, that’s right loser, she behaves for us because we have these little things called boundaries.

” He looks confused, maybe I used too many big words ”

Mental note: Keep language to 10 letter words or less.

Smelly fuckwitt parent: ” Sorry they were late, I got pulled over by the police cause I had 4 kids in the back. I don’t know what there problem is cause Tyler is only small”

Fuck me this man really is a moron!

Me: ” It doesn’t matter how big the children are, its down to the fact that you only have three seatbelts in the back. Even if they are really, really small, you can still only have 3 humans in the back of the car”  You have to ask yourself, should these people really be allowed to bare children?

Smelly fuckwitt parent: ” Yerrrr, maybe”  No, not fucking maybe freak. positively yes you cretinous freak.

Why the fuck am I wasting my time.

I end the conversation.

Life is too fucking short!

Somebody fucking shoot me.

 

Handy husbands.

Filed under: Kids! Who'd have em?,Men Are Muppets,Mental Notes to Self — bitchpedia @ 6:13 am
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Give it a few years love , DIY will wipe off that smile!

My husband took a week off work.

Great, that’s my week fucked up!

So he decides to paint the outside of the house.

Ok, so your all thinking, don’t be an ungrateful cow.

Off we go for a family trip to B&Q .

I follow my husband dotingly down the aisles, and the kids trail after us, causing a wave of destruction as they go.

Browsing in the solvents aisle (It crosses my mind, a week at home with both husband and kids, I might need one of these to get me though).

I look down the aisle.

It was then that I spotted the old man with mouldy head.

Oh crap- I look back and, to late, observant eldest child is on the case.

Eldest child: ” Mummy what is wrong with that mans head “She announced in her loudest shouting voice.

Next time I’ll get her a fucking loud-speaker!

Mother: ” Shhhh, be quiet and stop being so rude ”

She’s got a point though, what the fuck is that?

She shuts up and decides to stare opened mouth, tainted with a slight look of disgust at the man.

Not sure that’s an improvement in the rudeness stakes.

We buy up the aisle and make a swift exit.

Down to the DIY.

Husbands starts cracking open paint pots and balancing ladders on dangerously high roof beams.

WTF man, you need your arms and legs to work! I’m sure you should have safety ropes or something.

Its best I don’t look.

So I go and make myself useful and do my’ womans work’ inside (I would bitch slap my husband if he called it that).

Head in washing machine, I hear the familiar mating call of my husband. ” Is it time for a coffee yet ”

I don’t no love, have you put the fucking kettle on?

Dotingly I make the drinks.

Back to the painting and I get my head back into the washing machine.

Then that familiar mating call clashes with my ear drums again ” Do you no where my phone is love ”

Why the fuck would I know, Its your phone.

I find it and I return it to my husbands person.

Back to the washing machine.

Then I hear ” Pass me the screw driver”

Is he taking the piss?

Why the fuck, when a man takes on a bit of DIY, does it instantly turn us women folk into their general personal assistant.

When I’m knee-deep in washing, ironing and household scum , and he’s chilling in front of the tv.

You don’t find me hollowing from beneath a pile of skiddy pants

 ” Can you get me a coffee love

or

 ” Could you just pass me that spatula darling”

No, I start a job by myself and I fucking finish it by myself!!!!

Thus prooving, men really do need a mummy, not a wife!

 

Man v Instruction manual. April 27, 2010

Craftsmen at work!

We brought a new barbecue at the weekend.

A simple construction, with equally simple instructions.

I open up the box and start reading the manual.

In walks ‘ the DIY king’  The husband.

Now, being a man, instructions, they laugh in the face of instructions!

” It alright love, it’s just a few nuts and bolts, I’m pretty sure we won’t be needing them” -Crap!

Yes dear, that will be why we live in a house of wobbly things!

He builds the barbecue, it doesn’t wobble and it does look like a barbecue.

By gosh, I think we will be able to cook on it.

Then I spy the left over nuts and bolts.

Wife: ” Don’t we need them”

Husband: ” They always put a few spares in”

What, a whole bag full!!!

Men: If the item your building contains instructions, then fucking use them.

Women: Hold your tongue, don’t suggest your man is doing it wrong, you might find a hammer imbedded in your head, simply suggest another way using your most non-threatning girly voice.