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!

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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?

 

Cannonball demolition. May 13, 2010

Filed under: Men Are Muppets,Random Crap — bitchpedia @ 7:46 pm
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The sun is shining.

The temperature is hot.

Lets do some gardening. (I know, not quite as exciting as it first sounded)

The people who previously owned our house had a weird fetish for kerb stone bordering.

I know we all have fetishes, but, kerbstones-really???

I literally have pavement kerb stones borders all around my garden. I tell you, ‘The concrete jungle’ ain’t got nothing on this plot of ground.

We attack them at first light with all the power of a randy bison.

With spades in hand, I start hanging off my spade, lets face it if my vast bulk can’t shift them, they’re here for keeps.

My mother having already suggested we keep them as a feature.

If the look I was going for was ‘ring road city centre’, with that feature I’d be on to a winner.

It’s no good, they will not be moved.

I see my hubby looking around for some inspiration, these kerbstones are no match for ‘King Kong’ over there.

He stops, and I see his eyes light up at the sight of two cannonballs sitting in the garden.

He picks one up, and then without warning , starts lobbing it at the kerbstones, like Zola Bud on acid.

What the fuck is he doing, the neighbours are going to think he’s escaped for the local mental asylum.

I look at him, a grin on his face, clearly he’s enjoying himself, a little too much.

Hubby: ” Look its working, there be smashed up in no time ” What, before the men in white suits cart you away.

Wife: ” I’ll go in, as you seem to have it covered out here”

Hubby: ” Can you just stay out and help me pick the bits up” I don’t fucking think so matey, all the time your practising your prehistoric bowling, I’m keeping well out-of-the-way.

Mental note: If  husband declares his hammer isn’t big enough, he ain’t talking about his love hammer. Back away quick, and stay indoors.

 

A sofa revelation. May 3, 2010

Filed under: Men Are Muppets,Random Crap,The Daily Bitch. — bitchpedia @ 9:45 pm
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Warning: Genius present.

It would seem that my hubby is a genius.

You switch the television on, and all of a sudden he knows all there is to know about everything.

So, there we are sitting in the living room, gormless at the tv (as any self respecting person on a Sunday night should be).

The kids want to watch ‘Shark man’ , If it shuts them up, they can watch the whole bloody series on a loop.

Half way though the programme, it starts.

It seems, Shark man himself is sitting next to me on the sofa.

Shark man: “What are they doing, even I know you can’t lay a shark on its back”

Wife: “I’m sure they know what they are doing, and they just said they do it to stun them”

Maybe if he shut the hell up, he’d know that!

Shark man: “No, that’s rubbish, I’m not even a fisherman and I know that”

You just said it yourself- your not a fisherman, so shut the fuck up!

Yes, of course, these scientists who have made it there life’s work to study sharks, clearly know fuck all about fish.

Obviously dear husband, you are wasted building houses, get yourself a boat and hook yourself a live one!

It seems this is not the only arrow in his bow, you name it sport, SAS, random documentaries etc etc he knows it all.

My husband the genius!

 

Handy husbands. April 29, 2010

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.

 

Neighbour affair

Get this.

I am awoken one night with the sounds of domestic doom coming from my next door neighbours house.

It seems all is not at one.

Having recovered from my shock awakening, I start to listen.

Whats more, I start to enjoy- its like a scene from Eastenders, but better.

After all , in the morning I get to look them in the eye and lord my superiority over them.

I now no the ins and outs of all their dirty history!

Anyway, the lording about didn’t last long, as she was gone by morning.

Kid, washing machine and fuck off wide screen tv in toe ( The tv, now that must have really griped him)!

The dust settled, well if you call 48 hours later moving your ex(of 48 hrs)partners best friend in, settled.

Now, call me shallow, call me whatever the fuck you want. None of this bothered me.

What gets right on my tits is, the new perky blond woman he has in there, walks round like she has a giant stick up her arse.

I say ‘hello’ to her, and she sticks her nose in the air and blanks me, yet a man offers her the hand of friendship and she all tits and arse friendly!

I couldn’t give a bollox about her affair ( wrong- you just don’t ride your best friends disco stick), but its brian stunned slappers like her, that give us Brit girls a bad name.

Shame on you- use your brain not your tits!