Blogging A to Z : R is for Random Musings

Earlier this evening I asked my two youngest sons for suggestions for my “R” post.

“Reproduction,” quipped Master Benedict.

Hmm…in hindsight if I could have put a bet on Master Benedict (who is 14 years old) saying “reproduction” I think I’d have won.

“Recession,” said Master Jacob. (A sensible lad.)

So by request from my sons: recession and reproduction.

Now since it’s already very late, I shall have to be succinct about these two subjects as I have a busy day tomorrow and need my beauty sleep. I’m also having a tube shoved up my nose in the afternoon which means tomorrow’s post may well be entitled “snot.”

So, keeping it short and sweet, here’s my thoughts on the recession.

What a ghastly, ghastly business.

Right that’s “recession” dealt with. Now here’s my thoughts on reproduction:

What a ghastly, ghastly business.

Well the childbirth side is. The stuff that comes before is okay. But ideally I liked to be paid for it.

Oh – I don’t mean in that sleazy Richard Gere/Julia Roberts way. It’s just that I read a facebook post earlier where a woman said her husband paid her to do the housework. No, seriously I did! So naturally, the thought crossed my mind whether I could try this “payment for housework” thing on the Good Mr T and whether perhaps I could also elicit payment for some “other stuff” too – as I’ve seen a really attractive handbag and could do with some extra cash. The bag’s a bit pricey – but it would be an “investment” piece. (The investment being mainly on the Good Mr T’s part.) I’m thinking my arrangement with the Good Mr T would be a sort of friendly give-and-take martial type of transaction. Not like a proper “business arrangement” as in Pretty Woman. What do you reckon? Workable?

Now rumpy-pumpy aside, (that’s a quaint British word for stuff that a wholesome blog like this does not mention) I’m rather glad the reproductive side of my life is on the wane. In fact, if my ovaries are anything like my face they should be close to looking like pickled walnuts. This is all good as it means never again will I have to suffer the agonies of childbirth. My third labour was 24 hours long which is grossly unfair as apparently babies are supposed to shoot out like Buzz Lightyear by that stage. Unfortunately, Master Benedict was so slow coming out The Good Mr T completed an entire Sunday Times crossword and still had time to take several sojourns to the cafe to watch the football.

You know, apparently some women love all that childbirth stuff. (I know it is hard to believe but apparently they do.)  In fact, childbirth expert Sheila Kitzinger once said that some women even find it an orgasmic experience. (Obviously these are women who don’t know the value of a good handbag.) However, I have yet to meet a woman who admits to it. Granted, it’s not the sort of thing one might admit to down at the pub or in a large room of strangers, but I haven’t met any woman, ever, who said childbirth tickled her fancy. And as for women over the forty-five (like my goodself) the majority of them (those who aren’t into feng shui and broccoli smoothies) would rather slit their wrists than endure a late middle age pregnancy even if came with a mind-blowing orgasm that lasted an entire week.

So there you go. A quick “R” post. I’ll toss in another “R” for good measure. How about “rainbow?”

Rainbows are really pretty. But I’ve never found a pot of gold at the end of one. I’ve looked but whenever I think I’ve got there all I can find is a pair of men’s dirty underpants.

Women like to be serenaded. Unfortunately, when you get to middle-age things don’t always work out as planned.

You can check out the other Blogging A to Z candidates HERE.