Centenary... 100 word challenge for grown ups

For the one hundredth 100 word challenge for grown ups, this week's prompt is "the Big C".  The challenge - to begin each line with the letter C.  To make it even more challenging (ha!) for myself, I decided to start each sentence with the letter C. 

Centenary

 

“Careful. Careful my dear. Come along. Come along my dear. Come along with me. Come along and see. Celebrate. Celebrate my dear. Celebrate with me.”

Carrying the cake, I stumbled through the garden as my grandmother encouraged, mumbling in her way. Chuckling to herself, her mind taken by the disease of age.

“Count the candles on the cake. Celebrate. Carefully my dear.”

Crying out, I tripped, catching my foot on the edge of my grandmother's walking stick. 

Cake flew everywhere, decorating the garden in a sea of pink frosting. 

Candles, one hundred, counting her centenary, burning the grass.

Hymns and Arias... 100 word challenge for grown ups

I really enjoyed the prompt  for this week's 100 word challenge for grown ups - it reminds me of a time when I sang in choirs and the rush of adrenalin I'd get standing on stage preparing to sing.  

 ... the air was expectant...

Hymns and Arias

 

The air was expectant, filled with anticipation. Standing alone, she looked out into the darkness in front of her, bright lights shining in her eyes. She caught the eye of someone in the dark and felt their excitement rushing into her, like a river through the valley.

As the music started, she took a deep breath, feeling the air rushing into her lungs. The tempo intensified, the sound taking over her body, becoming part of her.

Opening her mouth, she felt the sound flow out of her, filling the air with an aria she had heard a thousand times before.

A letter to my ten-year-old self

Girlguiding recently ran a campaign to "tell Sophie" - encouraging us to think about advice we would like to give our ten year old selves.  I've been thinking about this for a while, and have decided that one thing isn't enough.  Here is what I'd like to tell my ten-year-old self.

Me, aged ten

Dear Rosy

Are you Rosy yet, or are you still Rosemary?  I can't remember.  At some point soon, if you haven't already, you will finally settle on the name by which you will be known for the rest of your life.  You will go through a range of spellings, but you will finally decide that you want to be called "Rosy" - spelt with a y, not ie, because it's unusual and you don't have "ie" in your name. 

You are ten years old, so you must be in Year 5, still in primary school.  You feel grown up - in September, you will be moving into Year 6, and after that you will move up to high school.  Enjoy feeling grown up - high school will be fun, but overwhelming. 

You are starting to realise that maybe you don't fit in any more - you are the tallest person in Year 5, and you started your period last year.  Adults told you it was perfectly normal, but it didn't feel normal when you realised that you were the first, and everyone knew it.  You don't enjoy it now but believe me, you will grow to appreciate it in time.  And enjoy feeling tall.  Next year, you will stop growing and you will suddenly become the shortest person in the class. 

You don't like the way you look.  You think you are fat and too tall, and you wear a bra even though none of your friends do.  You are not fat.  But you won't realise that for a long time.  You will try dieting, and one day you will realise that something isn't right.  Realising it will be the first step in dealing with it.  People will try to help you, although it might not feel like help at the time.  One day you will understand that they are doing it because they love you and want to make you feel better.  They are not trying to rule your life.  Only you can do that.

But now, you already feel like you spend your whole life feeling like the odd-one-out.  Sometimes you will hate it, and you will think everyone else thinks that way too.  On those days, don't take it out on yourself too hard.  You will grow to realise that everyone is just a bit weird.  Some people are just a bit weirder than others.  That doesn't make them any less allowed to enjoy being themselves.  You are allowed to just be you.

You have already started to be aware of boys, although you think they're just a bit rubbish (you won't grow out of that for a while)!  You have already met the boy you will share your first "grown up" kiss with.  I'm not going to tell you who he is, but he was lovely (and still is), and even though you will lose contact for a while, you will get back in touch when you are older, and you will be friends.  Don't rush to grow up too quickly.  Being a grown up is scary, and the older you get, the less qualified you will feel to be one.

You have crazy hair.  I know it well - although your hair will be every length, style and colour you can imagine over the next few years, you will end up giving up and accepting that it is curly.  There's a girl in your class whose hair goes all the way down her back and she can sit on it.  You are jealous.  Don't be.  Your hair is yours.  You can do what you want with it (although one day, I promise, you will have hair that you can sit on.  It will be crazy hair and you will spend ages trying to get rid of the frizzy bits at the front.  It will drive you insane, and you will wish you could just cut it off.  But you quite like having long hair.  You can't have it both ways!)

See that picture?  That is you, aged ten, on the day you took your promise as a Guide.  You will struggle in Guides, but you will stick at it because you are determined to prove you are as good as, if not better, than the girls who laugh at you and call you names.  Stay determined.  It will get you into trouble sometimes, but stick to your guns - it will save you one day. 

Even if you don't enjoy Guides, you will make it.  One day, you will be asked to go to the United Nations, in New York (that's in America!), to represent ten million Girl Guides and Girl Scouts at a conference all about women and girls.  You won't believe it now.  I still don't believe it.  But it will change your life in so many ways that you can't even imagine now.  Don't try to imagine, just know that whenever life is tough (and it will be), things will get better.

Girlguiding (as it is called now) will be your lifeline.  You will make so many friends in so many countries all over the world - some in countries that you don't even know exist yet (has Dad started trying to teach you all the capital cities yet?  If not, that's something for you to look forward to!)   Keep in touch with them - you never know when you might see them again.  But you will. 

Oh, you decided last year that you wanted to be vegetarian.  Well done for keeping it up!  Mum is probably still trying to make you eat nuts and weird food like tofu (you'll learn to eat it.  Eventually).  No-one thought you'd make it this far, did they?  Well you will surprise them all!

You live in Wales, in a village in the middle of nowhere.  You find that tough sometimes - all your friends live miles away and you don't get to see them as much as you'd like.  One day, you will live even further away (I'm not going to tell you - it'll be a lovely surprise), and you will see even less of your friends from school, but you will keep in touch and when you do see them, it will be like you'd never been away.  But you're not even friends with those people yet, so I'm not going to tell you who they are.  They are wonderful though.  Don't lose them.

I wonder how much of this you think about.  You are happy as a ten year old.  You have wonderful friends and family (they are still wonderful) and you like school.  You have just started to learn to play the violin and the clarinet - they will take you to exciting places. 

Enjoy being ten.  I'm glad that you don't know any of the things I have written about - at ten, you aren't thinking about the future.  You don't need to.  What will happen to you is going to happen anyway.  Just go with it.  Sometimes you will hate it, and sometimes you will love it.  That's life.  It's normal.  As normal as "normal" is, anyway.

One day, a few years from now (a whole lifetime away), you will sit down and think about being ten.  That day is today.  See you then!

Keep smiling.

Lots of love,

Me
x

Science... 100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups

 So, three and a half weeks until D-day, but my brain may have melted in this heat.  Writing 100 words is a lovely way to take a break from the 15,000 words of my dissertation (6,000 still to go) though.

This week's prompt for the 100 word challenge for grown ups is a fun one:

 

 Science

Pulling into the driveway she spotted two figures hunched, poking at something on the doorstep.

Looking up, the smaller figure jumped up excitedly.

'Mummy! I wanted eggs but Daddy said I could only have them if I found out how to make eggs and he let me use Google and it told me loads of boring recipes and then I found this one and its great because you don't need to do any washing up Mummy, except your spatula, but Daddy said not to tell you... oops'

As the child paused for breath, she cursed the day she married a scientist.

Let's do a rain dance

Or: 5 reasons I'm not enjoying the summer

Just a few weeks ago, I was thinking how lovely it would be to get on a plane and spend a week sitting in the sun somewhere exotic, sipping cocktails and listening to the sea gently lapping against the sand.

Ok, anyone who knows me will know that this is exactly not  how I would spend a week abroad (I'm more likely to be found running around a city trying to see ALL of the things listed in my guide book before returning to work to recover).  But for some reason I thought it would be nice to get some sun.

Boy am I regretting that now.  And here are five reasons why I am not enjoying this glorious weather:

1.  Clothes

I've talked before about how I feel about the way I look.  As someone who feels most comfortable in jeans, a hoody and doc martens (I have 7 pairs!), summer is a nightmare.  If I could wear my pyjamas all the time, I would.  During the summer, I adapt - jeans just get a bit shorter, and DMs are replaced with flipflops, so weekends are sorted.

Then Monday happens.  Getting dressed is way more stressful than it needs to be.  After last week's disasterous shopping trip, I found the courage to take myself back into town and buy a dress.  Well, I ended up buying two, albeit the same style in two different colours.  I don't hate them.  This is good.  However, they are quite short, and there's quite a lot of leg on show.  So although I've bought two dresses which make the perfect summer work outfits, I accessorise them with thick grey tights and cardigans.  Cue abnormal levels of dehydration.  I might as well just wear jeans and hoodies.  Or my pyjamas.

2.  Sweat

Just uuuuurgh!  My sweat, other people's sweat, it's all just gross.

3.  Hayfever

The competitive part of my brain finds hayfever, or any illness for that matter, particularly difficult to deal with.  While I want to scrape my eyeballs out with a blunt teaspoon just to stop them itching, others around me are suffering much, much more.  Although I sympathise with how they are feeling, I find myself trying to out-do them, telling tales of the time I got heat rash so bad I ended up in hospital, or the time I sneezed twelve times in a row and pulled all the muscles in my back so I couldn't walk for a week.  I hear myself speaking sometimes and wish the hole I'm digging for myself would just open up and swallow me whole.  I don't know why I do it, but I really wish I could make it stop!

Anyway, hayfever is that really annoying ailment that makes you feel like death, and the only way to just take the edge off it is to take the world's tiniest tablet, one a day, which doesn't actually make anything better, it just makes you so drowsy you forget that you feel horrendous.  Not only this, but it forces you to sit inside, with the windows and doors firmly locked.  So you can't even enjoy the glorious weather, unless it's from behind a layer of double-glazing, which you would be able to see through if it wasn't for the condensation, the result of it being TOO HOT!  

For those of you suffering, here is a view to make you feel better!

4.  Flying things 

A few years ago, on a rare occasion when I decided to clean through choice (rather than by being forced by an impending flat inspection) I lifted the toilet seat and came face-to-face with a hornet that was literally the size of my thumb.  Traumatised by this experience, I realised recently, I now check under the toilet seat every time I go into the bathroom.  Even if I'm just cleaning my teeth.

It's not just the huge increase in flying insects that I hate about the summer.  I'm sure the heat makes birds go insane.  For example, walking home today, I watched a seagull meticulously tear open a discarded bin bag, remove its contents one piece at a time, and line them up along the pavement.  What?!  On Saturday, I went for a walk with my friend and her one-year-old son, Peanut*, who is just starting to walk.  As we toddled along through the park, we came across a flock of pigeons.  Of course, Peanut decided it would be hilarious to chase them.  I'm sure I saw a flicker of something evil flash across the eyes of the fattest pigeon as it swiftly avoided the grasp of an over-confident toddler. They're plotting revenge.  

(*he's not actually called Peanut)

5.  The fact that everyone keeps talking about it! 

Right everyone.  It's hot.  It's sunny.  We're all melting.  I get that.  The thing that bugs me isn't so much the ordinary person on the street.  It's the weather reporters.  15 years ago, we might have been able to justify the daily surprise that was the weather.  But technology has moved on.  The weather people, of all people, should know better.  Technology can help them work out that it's going to rain a week next Tuesday.  It shouldn't, therefore, be a surprise a week next Tuesday when the heavens open.  So, BBC, please stop sending your presenters off to the glorious caravan sites of Great Britain to marvel over the fact that the sun is shining. Again.

The other thing that bugs me is people constantly "blaming" Global Warming.  Let me get one thing straight here. Global Warming Does. Not. Exist.  It's not a person, it therefore cannot be blamed.  Just like Santa and the Easter Bunny, Global Warming has been created by people to make them feel better about something people have caused.  Instead of being surprised on a daily basis that "today is the hottest day of the year so far", let's think about why the weather is "so unusual".  Just think.

Done?

Good.  

So, here are just five things about the summer, or, more specifically, the heat, that I just can't deal with.  There are more things - the fact I can't enjoy an ice cream without getting ill; the fact I haven't had more than 5 hours sleep for about the last 6 weeks; and the fact that I have to spend the next 4 weeks indoors writing my Masters Dissertation rather than enjoying being outside.

Or maybe I'll sit in my substitute library!

But who am I to complain?  I live in the UK, I will enjoy the sun while I can, while gritting my teeth and carrying on until, undoubtedly, normality resumes and the flood warnings return.

Broken

I don't normally watch Panorama - I watched it once and didn't stop crying for three days. But, I may have accidentally ordered take away and I accidentally happened to be sitting infront of the TV when this evening's episode started.

It's also not very often that I blog about things I see on TV, but the topic of tonight's Panorama Special episode was one that really interests me - the high rate of (unreported) suicide in British veterans.

In this documentary, the reporter meets families of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) victims, many of whom were afraid to ask for help and felt their only option was to take their own lives.  Many of these men returned from Afghanistan where they saw their friends, colleagues and innocent civilians die in horrendous situations.  Many of these men left military service soon after returning home.  All of these men showed signs of PTSD although, as the documentary points out, these signs often don't show until years later.

The reporter met one veteran who had been diagnosed with PTSD and was given counselling.  Three sessions.  Half an hour each.  That's one and a half hours.

I don't even know where to start with how angry I am right now.

ONE AND A HALF HOURS?!

I've been seeing a counsellor for over nine months now, and I've never been in a combat zone.  I've never seen someone die, horrifically or not, and the only time I've seen a corpse was in an open casket at a funeral in south America (and she was old).  In those nine months, I've only just finished scraping the top off my issues and have only started tackling the actual problems in the last couple of weeks. 

My point - which genius decided 1.5 hours was enough to "fix" a deep-rooted issue like PTSD?!  Give them a knighthood...  Oh wait, they probably already have one.

To make it worse, the reporter met families of victims whose medical records were "lost" en route to the NHS, who weren't given the correct mental health risk assessments (a direct breach of MoD procedure, by the way), whose medical records (when they weren't "lost") said repeatedly that individuals were showing moderate risk of suicide, followed by delays to inquests and no compensation because PTSD "was not diagnosed during service".  So basically, "thanks for going and doing a hard job in a country where we put your life on the line every single day, now go away now.  You're someone else's problem now.  Bye."

AND there is no record of what happens to veterans after they leave service. 

Wow.
  
Now, I know a few people who are, or have been, in the military.  I don't pretend to know anything at all about what being in the military or in a combat zone is like, and I really hope I never have to find out.  But I do have an incredible amount of respect for those men and women who do know what it's like.  I really hope that, if they ever do need help, someone will take the time to actually listen and to support them.


If you can, watch the documentary here.

Please support my sister running for the Stroke Association on 14th July

On Sunday 14th July, my little sister and her boyfriend will be running the BUPA Great Edinburgh Run 10km to raise money for the Stroke Association in memory of our Grandad.

Our Grandad, Alan Fennell, was an incredible man.  He was involved in designing and building most of Manchester, he taught thousands of people to swim, and he was passionate about learning everything he could.   

In January 2013, our Grandad suffered a stroke and he spent two long months in hospital.  The support given to him and our family by the Stroke Association during that time was incredible.  Their research meant that he was able to try a new treatment, the "clot buster", which helped to save his life.

Just a few days after leaving hospital, Grandad was able to celebrate his 60th wedding anniversary with our Grandma, surrounded by family in his own home.

Unfortunately, not long after this, he became ill with a bug he caught during his stay in hospital, and he passed away at the end of April 2013.

Grandad was incredibly supportive of all of his grandchildren, and I know that he is probably up there somewhere, talking to himself, making himself a cup of tea or pouring a glass of red wine (for medicinal purposes of course), laughing at us as we struggle through our daily lives.  But I hope that he is proud of my wonderful little sister for taking the time out of her busy life to commit to raising money for a charity which will help to give other people a little bit longer to spend time with their families.

I know I am proud.

If you would like to sponsor Sarah and Ryan, please visit their fundraising page.  And if you're in Edinburgh on Sunday 14th July, please come along to cheer them on.

Thank you.

Happiness is not found in Topshop. Or New Look. Or even Primark.

Over the past few months, I've done a lot of soul-searching, dealing with the elephants in my head and slowly but surely starting to feel like the me I want to be - the 26 year old, happy, confident, comfortable-in-her-own-skin version of me; not the 16 year old, insecure, miserable version of me I've been clinging on to since I was, well, 16.

One of my biggest, most stubbornest elephants is my issue with the way I look.  I genuinely dislike the way I look - from the super-frizzy mat of hair that spends most of the time looking like it's been knitted into an elaborate headpiece (rather than just not brushed for a week), to the flabby arms (which the USA was subjected to a few months ago... *cringe*), squidgy middle and disproportionately large hips (good for birthing, supposedly...  uhmm... yeah). 

For as long as I can remember, I've been painfully aware of how I look, and despite (or, probably more likely, because of) the numerous diets, exercise regimes and magic pants (NB - they're not magic.  They're just so uncomfortable you couldn't actually eat if you wanted to, which you don't because your insides are so squished you couldn't fit anything in there anyway), I still can't come to terms with the body that stares back at me whenever I look in the mirror.

Anyway, over the last few weeks, I've realised that I don't want to change my body - I've tried that and I ended up weighing half of my current weight and being miserable, even though I could fit into a pair of size 6 jeans.

Nope, not doing that again.  What I really want to do is change the way I think about the way I look.  I don't want to feel like I have to hide behind jeans, hoodies and baggy tops any more.

So yesterday, I did something that terrifies me.  I put away my dissertation notes (due in 5 weeks - eek!) and went out to do something just for me.

I went shopping.

Yes, I am very aware of the following facts:
a) I just bought a new car, and as a result owe my parents a LOT of money
b) I haven't had a salaried job since April, and I won't get paid again until the end of July
c) I haven't paid my credit card bill yet this month.

However, I justified my decision by explaining to myself that:
a) I haven't done something just for me since I can't remember when
b) I will be paid at the end of July - the credit card can wait
c) I'm 26.  I shouldn't be freaking out about saving every single penny for the future, about paying my bills on time and about being a grown up.  It's ok to be a little bit reckless occasionally (and the fact I see shopping as reckless probably tells you everything you need to know about where my head's been for ...  a while...!)

So, the sun was shining, I was in town meeting a friend for coffee, I had no other plans for the day...  There was just no excuse.  Do it.

Filled with excitement, I headed to:
  
Shop 1 - Pepperberry/ Bravissimo
"I have a voucher, so I don't even need to worry about my credit history", I justified to myself.  Also, the great thing about Pepperberry is that the clothes are designed for women with boobs and hips, and all those other body parts that, apparently, people who shop on the high street don't have.  Excitedly,  I rushed around, gathering dresses like a child in a sweet shop.  In the changing room, I whipped off my sack-come-summer-dress and prepared myself to be amazed by how incredible I looked as I wriggled into dress number 1...

... hmmm...  so maybe frills aren't my thing...  Maybe the next one?

... ok...  I don't like spots anyway...  The next one?

... love the style... really hate the pattern...  Right.  Dress number 4 has to be the one, surely?

Turning round, I looked in the mirror...

OH GOD!!  When did I turn into my mother?!

Ok.  Maybe starting at the expensive end of town was a mistake.  Pepperberry - thank you, but I think I'll wait a few years before I come back.

Now, on to:

Shop 2 - Topshop

I can't remember the last time I went into Topshop, but I can guarantee it hasn't been in the last five years.  However, with my new found perspective on life, my determination to look like someone my own age, and the sun in my eyes,  I cautiously walked in, waiting for someone to realise I didn't belong there.  After a few minutes, I started to look at the clothes and stopped freaking out about being escorted off the premises by the burly security man I'd snuck past on my way in.  Well, this was definitely more down the route I was looking for (disregarding the shocking pink crotch-length denim shorts) - there were definitely a few potential dresses!

I found myself starting to almost enjoy this shopping malarkey!

Wandering round, I picked up a few items and stood in the queue to try them on.  Looking at the people queueing around me, my heart started to race, as I realised they were all tall, blonde, can't have been bigger than a size ten, clinging on to beautiful, colourful, summery tops, dresses and skirts, while I, I realised, was clutching three grey dresses.  Grey.  Even as I tried them on I could feel my heart sink.  I knew this was a mistake.

Damn.

Oh well, I never liked Topshop anyway.

Needless to say, I ran out of the doors, head down, past the security man I'd so sneakily avoided on my way in.  On to:

Shop 3 - H&M

I've had mixed experiences with H&M in the past, but it's a shop I know people my own age shop in, so I decided to give it a go.

AND the sales are on!  Within five minutes, I'd grabbed three lovely dresses (ok, they were black, but ideal for work and not made of material that made my skin itch).  After wandering round, looking at all the beautiful summery clothes and collecting things to try on, I headed to the changing rooms.

Slipping into a blue skirt, I really thought my luck was about to change... IT FIT!  I spun around a couple of times, before stepping out into the corridor to take another look in the full length mirror with better lighting.

Ok, maybe it doesn't look quite so amazing...  And, wait, what's that pattern??

Oh GOD!  It's completely see through!  I really wish I hadn't worn cartoon-character pants today...

The next two dresses I tried on were just depressing.  The first was a size 12 on the wrong hanger.  By the time I reached the second, I swear I'd added a couple of inches to my thighs in the last hour.  PAH!

Right.  Do I give up now?  I could hear my dissertation calling...  There's still time to get to the library...

NO!  I have to persevere.  And look:

Shop 4 - BHS

Ok, I know this is where parents shop.  But, in my defense, they do have a Dorothy Perkins sale.  Surely I could find something here?

DP had lots of lovely things.  Nothing in my size, but still lovely.  Wallis had a lot of animal print stuff (why?!).  Evans - doesn't do anything in my size.

Right, maybe I will have to look in actual BHS.  They have a petite section - maybe I'll find something there...

Yep, maxi-dresses.

DO NOT GET ME STARTED ON MAXI-DRESSES!

If I wanted to make myself look any shorter than I already am, I'd dig myself a hole.  Actually, maybe that's what I should've done about now...

No.  BHS, you may have failed me.  But you do have a cafe.  And cake.  I like cake.  Cake will make it better.  Yep, cake.  That will totally help.

So I ate cake, and sat staring out of the window, trying to regroup and convince myself that the best was yet to come.  I can NOT let a BHS scone (a dry, burnt one at that) be the highlight of my day.

Buoyed by the cake, I left BHS feeling a lot more confident, and walked straight into my nightmare...

Shop 5 - Primark

Again, I should have known better than to expect much from Primark.  But, you know, the clothes are cheap, so at least I couldn't feel guilty for spending money I don't have.

On the cake and caffeine high, I buzzed my way around both floors of women's clothes, collecting armfuls of dresses, artfully dodging the rampaging children, stick-thin teenagers and aisles of maxi dresses, before queuing for the changing rooms (avoiding eye contact with anyone and staring at the floor until it was my turn to be directed to a cubicle).

I knew the chance of actually finding something I liked was slim to none, but I persevered.  After countless "wrong" attempts, I surprised myself by finding something that, actually, I thought looked ok...  but I still wasn't convinced. 

I'd realised by now that changing room mirrors are deceptive and generally evil, so should not be trusted.

My only hope of making this decision was to get a second opinion.  That meant asking for help.  We don't do that.  We especially don't ask the opinion of a girl wearing leggings without an ounce of visible cellulite and a t-shirt that was cut somewhere further north of her tummy button than I would ever dare wear, even in the dark.

Oh god, I'm old.

Of course, I didn't ask for a second opinion.  Instead, I put my own clothes back on and fled the cubicle faster than Usain Bolt on a caffeine kick. 

Having a meltdown in Primark was not how I envisaged this day. 

By now, you'd think I'd have realised that the day was pretty much a disaster.  But no, I was determined that I was going to do something for myself.  It didn't matter that I was miserable, that I'd burst into tears in the middle of Edinburgh's biggest flagship clothes store, or that I was actually melting in the summer heat.  Nope.  I kept going.

I'm not going to tell you about the next five shops I went to, but they were pretty similar to one or more of the above scenarios.

Five hours after arriving in town, I was kicked out of Debenhams (because they were closing, not because I was getting tears all over the beautiful ball gowns), and I stood on the pavement feeling lost and dejected.

What a failure.

--

Ok, my first attempt to do something for myself could be considered a bit of a disaster.  But, a few hours later after a couple of glasses of wine and the chance to reflect on the day with an understanding friend, I did start to see the funny side.

I realised that I was trying to lump the whole day into one emotion.  Life doesn't work like that.

The reason the day failed wasn't because I'm rubbish at doing something for myself, it was because of the way I was letting myself look at myself.

In retrospect, I'm proud of myself for trying.  Maybe next time I'll take someone with me, to tell me I look amazing, or to laugh at the ridiculous things I try to squeeze myself into.

Or I'll do something for myself that involves sitting in the dark for a few hours.  Cinema, anyone?

Growing Up - 100 word challenge for grown ups

I've missed a couple of the prompts for the 100 word challenge for grown ups over the last few weeks - what with trying to keep on top of my dissertation and starting a new job, I've been pretty busy!  

But this week's prompt, "...pink nails?" she cried..., gave me some great ideas, so now I'm back!

Growing Up

"Pink nails?!" she cried, glaring at her mother. 

"But you promised I could have my nails painted like Katie.  Pink nails are rubbish. I can't believe you don't know anything!" 

How could her mother do this to her?!  Didn't she know that her favourite pop star always had her nails painted blue with little sparkly bits?!  This was such a stupid birthday present.  Why was her mother so useless?!

"Darling", her mother pleaded with her, "this was the colour you chose".

"But muu-um!  This colour is stupid.  I hate pink.  It's just not fair!" 

 It's hard being seven years old. 

--
Visit Julia's Place to read the other posts from this prompt.