So, we all know that there was once a mum who lived in the south of England. We know that she was married to a Keifer Sutherland lookalike. We know that in her household, nobody ever listened to a fucking word she said, or ate anything she cooked. We know that she has PCOS, which she is currently trying to kick the crap out of its carb hating/insulin resistant ass. We know that she tries to do this by sometimes #shabammingtheshitoutoflife.

Well, today’s story finds her on her way to #bodycombattheshitoutoflife. Except she arrives at the gym to find she *dramatic gasp* hasn’t shaved her armpits…

She is faced with several choices:
1. Turn around and go home. There is no place for female body hair in the gym.

2. #bodycombattheshitoutoflife with her arms pinned to her side. (That would be well worth filming surely.)

3. #bodycombattheshitoutoflife at the back of the room, and hope she isn’t mistaken for a gorilla during any of the punching move busting.

She scratched her head, and thought: WWGGD. What Would Germaine Greer Do?

Well, she’d probably not be at the gym for a start. She wouldn’t give a shit who didn’t like her wobbly, insulin resistant ass-she’d change it for no fucker.

If she did go inside, the woman mused that Germaine would probably strip off to her bra and knickers, and march in there all pubes blazing, plaiting her leg and armpit hair as she went, while singing ‘cast off the shackles of yesterday’ as per Mrs Banks from Mary Poppins fame.

She’d probably use her bikini line hair to make a rope to gag anyone who passed comment on her hairy status.

She definitely wouldn’t wear any makeup, and definitely wouldn’t suffer the same the woman once had, of going to a spin class with last nights makeup on, and getting to the car to find most of the mascara residing just under her eyebrows, and salty sweat streaks running through her foundation.

But, as the woman was a disgrace to feminists everywhere, she chose to ignore #WWGGD What Would Germaine Greer Do? And she went home. Oh well, at least it saved the double whammy embarrassment of possibly letting out a bit of wee during a round house, plus being mistaken for a gorilla.

On her way home she was telephoned by the Keifer Sutherland lookalike.

“Guess what just happened?????” He said, sounding horrified.

“What dear, it sounds terrible,” she replied.

“A client just said ‘you remind me of someone. Someone famous,’ and I said (probably with a swaggy point and a wink) I know, is it Keifer Sutherland, I get it all the time (probably a smirk in there at this point) and she said ‘no, I was thinking of DONALD Sutherland-his father’…”

The bit of wee that didn’t get to come out at body combat, then escaped at that moment, during massive amounts of giggling and snorting that ensued…ūüėāūüėā

The moral of the story? Invest in a cap sleeved gym t-shirt so that you can indulge yourself in never shaving your armpits while having the added benefit of¬†not being mistaken for a gorilla while basking in your own hairiness. And also, that at a certain age,¬†you will come to resemble the father of the celebrity you love that everyone mistakes you for, and¬†it will be¬†really bloody funny to your younger wife…!!¬†¬†¬†¬†

In a city in southern England, there lived a woman. She was the wife of a Keifer Sutherland lookalike, and slave to the role of parent, and no-one ever fucking listened to a word she said. Especially partial to totally ignoring anything she had to say, was the Keifer Sutherland she cohabited with, and the wise old elders with whom he had cohabited before her.

After spending billions of hours with her children, the woman felt she knew them best. She had developed complicated algorithms to parent by, in order to minimise them being total and utter assholes, all scientific and shit.

She knew that you NEVER point jovially out of the car window to point out something fun, because it’s guaranteed that at least one child would miss it, and spend the remainder of the journey demanding that you turn around so that they can see it. They will take their seat belts off and make random blackmails like ‘if you don’t turn around, I’ll scratch my bum, wipe it in your face, and throw Star Wars toys all over your bedroom floor when we get home,’ because they’re narcissistic dictators and life revolves around them. Once you’ve stopped to put their seat belts back on, to minimise risk of death, you end up turning around to show them the squirrel licking its nuts (freshly picked from the floor of course)¬†that you thought would make them laugh at the time, and they¬†will get their own way. They knew risk of death would make this happen, so the mum knew never to point out anything funny or unusual in the first place.

She knew never to go on long car journeys after lunchtime, because the complicated algorithms she had spent hours tearing her hair out over, stated quite clearly that being in the car after lunchtime was tantamount to giving children sedatives, and they would most definitely fall straight to sleep. Falling asleep at this time was banned, as the mum had years of experience to have developed the equation that: Children over 3 years of age sleeping in the car after lunchtime=no sleep in the evening and drunken behaviour=no wine and Netflix time for the mum and Keifer Sutherland lookalike.

She also knew that her children refused to walk anywhere, and loved the idea of riding their bikes, but fell out of love with actually riding them, approximately 5.7 seconds after getting on them.

(5.7 seconds later, fuck this shit, I’m getting off.)

So when the wise old elders with whom the Keifer Sutherland lookalike previously cohabited with, demanded that the mum,¬†the Keifer Sutherland lookalike, and their offspring meet them at a place¬†requiring a long post lunchtime drive home, where the paths were unsuitable for pushchairs, but did have an area for riding¬†bikes, the mum consulted her¬†Phd in Looking After Her Own Children,¬†perused her complicated algorithms, scratched her head, and announced: ‘No, we can’t do that, because the children will fall asleep on the way home, you’ll become grumpy Keifer Sutherland lookalike, when they don’t fall asleep at the allotted bedtime, and behave like drunks who have been arrested. Furthermore, they will ask to get off their bikes after 5.7 seconds, and as the paths are unsuitable for pushchairs, I foresee that we will end up carrying them, and their bikes, and it will be no fun for anyone.’

The mum didn’t make these bold statements to be a Kelly Killjoy, she did it for the greater good of the family, and with everyone’s happiness in mind, and because she knew she was fucking right. But the Keifer Sutherland lookalike and the wise old elders said she was, in fact, a Kelly Killjoy, and she could shove her algorithms up her ass.

So off they trundled, and within minutes of arriving at their destination, the mum was not surprised to find that the children, as predicted, became bored of their bikes within 5.7 seconds, and refused to walk-insisting on being carried.

The mum smugly announced ‘well, as nobody listened to me, when I knew I was right, I’m not carrying anyone, or anything-you’re on your own, all of you.’¬†With belligerence that her drunk tired toddlers would be proud of, the mum lagged behind the Keifer Sutherland lookalike and the (not so) wise elders with whom he¬†cohabited before, and smirked while watching them carry two toddlers, and two bikes between them. She resisted the urge to howl and cackle, and repeatedly shout I Told You So. It was a very satisfying moment.

Of course, on the way home, the children fell victim to the sedatives that the car apparently emits, and fell asleep. With further smugness, the mum announced to the Keifer Sutherland lookalike that he could deal with the drunk tired toddlers later on, while they were refusing to go to sleep at their allotted time, as he had poo poo’d her four years of military style training in order to gain the knowledge that meant she would always know best when it came to the children.

Later on, listening to him deal with the toddlers, while drinking wine and watching Netflix, the mum felt positively euphoric, like she never had before-this was turning into a very good day. And, he actually apologised later on that night, for thinking that her Phd in Looking After Her Own children, was not in fact, a valid or useful qualification. That never happens!

The moral of the story is: Women and mums are always right-that is all.

Have you fallen victim to #nooneeverfucking listens, when you know that you are right? Let me know in the comments below. #noonelistens #imalwaysright.

 

*my new post on attempting to kick some PCOS ass is now on the blog! I will be updating this page midweek, every week.