Insomnia or Exercise?

 I have always been fortunate enough to be able to brag that I sleep well. I have often stated (unapologetically) that I sleep like someone with a clean conscience.  But, the last few months seem to have landed me with a mild case of foot in mouth. 

After a number of recent bouts of insomnia I have felt the frustrating pain that the millions who suffers from insomnia struggle with; and I cry for every single one of them.

But why on earth would I suddenly be struck by this frustrating condition? My conscience is still squeaky clean, I’m working longer hours, my work load has increased, and I’m busier than I have ever been. My anxiety levels have been stable at “high” for years.  Surely I should be sleeping even better than ever before (if that’s even possible). 

Could it be age? I blame most things on aging. It’s because of aging that I look old. It’s because of aging that I struggle to lose weight. It’s because of aging that I can no longer wear cute little outfits without looking like mutton dressed as lamb. It’s because of aging that I can no longer practise the Karma Sutra without straining various muscle groups. It may very well be because of aging that my sleeping pattern has change.

So I had another extensive discussion with myself and decided that although my days are longer and busier and my anxiety levels remain unchanged, and there is sweet blow all I can do about aging, I am not really any more active than before. I concluded that I would try to move a little more to see if I could stimulate a better night sleep.  I’m an avid exercise hater, mainly because the couch is my place of safety and I think sweating is revolting but, I’ve decided to try light exercise to see if it will relieve my problem.  

So I went for a walk…………

I kitted myself out with a sweet pair of gel trainers, stole some ear phones from my son and walked calmly out the gate. I put the music on and started my walk. I had no route, distance or time in mind. I was simply going to walk until I got bored or couldn’t walk anymore (whichever came first). I immediately noticed that my pace was good – fast and strong!  “Oh wow, this is going to be a piece of cake! I can do this!” I thought. “But what the hell am I listening to?” I took the phone out my pocket. Skip song! I have no idea how that RAAAAAR RAAAAAR excuse for music landed on my playlist.

Good - nice music again, let’s keep the pace. I managed another three blocks before I realized I was really pounding the tar. My feet started feeling tender so I changed my pace to take shorter, lighter steps. But what the hell was I listening to now? I took my phone out my pocket to make sure the phone was in fact mine because I couldn’t recognise the music as anything remotely like the music I’d download. I would never listen to this crap… It was definitely my phone though. Skip song, again!

A small gentle uphill – I can do it! But then the heavy breathing started. Not the exciting kind of heavy breathing, but rather the dying kind – guttural, hoarse and ugly. I was gasping and gulping for air at the exact time that I walked into a swarm of midges.  I sucked those buggers in by the lung full which caused a frenzied reaction which involved me swishing my hands wildly in front of my face to try clear the air so I could continue gasping without vacuuming any more midges in. Any residents standing in their gardens watching me may have thought I was having some kind convulsion, or perhaps that I was self harming.  I fought my way through the swarm and stepped up my pace. I had to get distance between me and those pests.

As I made it over the verge I decisively concluded that I’d had enough. But I couldn’t just stop there. I was about 5 blocks away from home. So the next block up I turned to head homeward.  A nice easy stretch of road – flat and straight, and no midges. I slowed my pace to try easing the ridiculous breathing. But wtf was playing now… skip song, again.  Finding a decent tune to listen to took me to the end of that block and with a better beat playing I started a steady downhill towards home.

I was two blocks closer to home when I diagnosed myself with plantar fasciitis, shin splints and groin strain. I was in agony. My lungs and throat were still burning. But worst of all there was still crap playing through the earphones. Where the frikken hell did this music come from.   SKIP SONG!

After what felt like an hour, I reached home so frustrated. I was least concerned about the fact that I was damn near crawling from my freshly self diagnosed ailments, and had only been on the tar for 20 minutes. My playlist had invented a whole new level of frustration for me.  I heaved myself through the front door, waddled with very small delicate steps to my bed and there I lay for a good hour sorting and deleting tunes.  I conclude that there is little worse than listening to dreadful music whilst dying.

So I tried cycling……….

This should be a whole lot of fun – cycling with my favourite friends. I’ll be off my feet and on my bum – how hard can it be?  Apparently only as hard as the bicycle seat! 

My Sunday morning cycle was on a borrowed bike - I felt it was a little too big for me because even when sitting on the seat in its lowest position I could only reach the ground with my tip toes.  But with no bike of my own I had no choice but to use what had graciously be loaned to me.  The ride started out just dandy! Nice easy tar, but then we turned onto the dirt and all hell broke loose. Bump, bump, bump, jiggle, bump, uphill, bump, bump, jiggle, narrow foot path, mud, BIG BUMP, feet fly off the peddles, off the path, into the ruts, handlebar wobbling, OUCH! OUCH! OUCH! I didn’t fall but came dangerously close, twice!  

I thought sitting and exercising would be far more comfortable then exercising on my feet. But alas - I was wrong! After I was informed that we had done approximately 5 kilometres I asked in my most hopeful voice “Does that mean we are finished?” “NO” came Linda’s response. While my body felt like it could go on, I was pretty damn sure that my nether region couldn’t take more. My delicate area was taking excessive strain. It was burning and uncomfortable and feeling out right nasty. I tried standing on the pedals to take the pressure off my little flower, but that just threw me off balance and the bike wobbled and sent me into the ruts again. I had to sit down to gain control of the bike right in the middle of some enormous rippling bumps. My punani took yet another very nasty pounding and it was not pleasant pounding by any stretch of the imagination. 

After 8.5 km and a whole lot of whining about my very sore flower, I was taken back to base. I walked tall to hide the fact that my crushed flower was causing me intense discomfort, but I think it was pretty obvious I was having tremendous difficulty walking. I managed to enjoy a lovely breakfast, wonderful company and have a few good laughs before I got home and gently put myself on the couch. I had to lie down and rest my bruised punani.  I struggled to sit for two days.

  

Did I sleep better? I sure did! I conclude that exercise tames insomnia. But do I feel better?  Should I be putting my body parts at risk like this just for a better night sleep?

The next discussion I have with myself is going to be about which discomfort I can live with more ungrudgingly – the sheer exhaustion which comes from insomnia or the battered and bruised body parts which come from exercising. 

A Micro Mishap'

Of all the desperately stupid things I’ve done in my life, tattooing my eyebrows is by far the stupidest.

Social media has been full of really beautiful picture of girls who have tattooed their eyebrows, using a technique called Mircoblading. It’s the latest trend in giving your brows shape and definition. No more dying your eyebrows and no more plucking to get that great shape – you can have great brows permanently etched onto your face! I’ve been dying to do it.

I did some research and have seen the most gorgeous microbladed brows all over the net. Since mine are so thin and, dare I say - grey, I reckoned that microbading would definitely be the thing for me! Since it’s trending right now, and I’m such a trendy chick, I decided I’d go for it!

WTF HAVE I DONE!

I tootled off on Monday morning to my Microblading appointment, without having told my husband I was going!  I don’t discuss these things with him before hand – And with very good reason of course. He always tries to talk me out of the stupid things I do. But I kind of need to bump my head to learn a lesson, so it doesn’t work to talk me down. You just gotta let me make my mistakes. I also hate the “I told you so” after the fact, so I don’t discuss – I just do!  Yeah, I know, it’s called stubborn. Oh no wait, it’s called stupid.  

About 20 minutes after I got back with my new eyebrows, in walked my man! Immediately as he looked at me he blurted out in shock: “WTF have you done?”  

That was my first indication that I have turned myself into a hideous creature. (At great cost to myself I might add.)

“Teacher, why are you wearing so much make-up?” – Second indication.

“Teacher, why are you wearing Halloween stuff?” – Third indication.

“You look like an Angry Bird!” – Fourth indication

“Mom,*giggle* what have you done? *giggle*” – Fifth indication

And as for everyone who hasn’t said a word, it’s not because they haven’t noticed. I mean really – there is no way you can miss the two big black blocks that are supposed to be my brows. I think some people just don’t have words. When they talk to me their sights are very clearly set on them - their facial expressions are questioning: “WTF has she done”. They don’t ask out loud, because they are polite. Or perhaps because they are in so much shock they have no words. I imagine that when they walk away they are suppressing much laughter.  

It’s only been two days! Where will I hide for the rest of my life?

I don’t understand – I was supposed to look like those beautiful girls on the Internet. Not that I wanted to be an eyebrow model or anything but nice brows where supposed to take attention off my wrinkles.

After a little discussion with a fellow microblader, I feel somewhat better! Emphasis on SOMEWHAT! Apparently after the scabs fall off my brows will be much lighter and not nearly as big and thick and caterpillar looking!  I just have to wait a week and a half.

Something tells me the next week and a half will be the longest week and a half of my entire life!

TIP OF THE WEEK: Book now, Girls. Don't delay, go microblade your brows TODAY.

 (Come on, PLEASE! - I don't want to be the only idiot.) 

A new dilemma

I’m not a multitasker. Never have been! I find it damn near impossible to focus on two things at once. Whoever started the rumour that women are the best multitaskers needs a bit of a wake up slap! To say such a thing is mean, cruel and untrue.  Try as I might, I end up feeling like a failure as a woman because I just can’t do it. It puts me under pressure and I become impossible to be around, so I avoid it at all costs.

Lately I’ve spent so much time worrying about my wrinkles that I haven’t been watching my weight. According to the scale I have gained 7Kgs since I reached my target last April.

 

I suspected I was gaining about a month ago. I could feel it in my jeans. Also, my body does this disturbing thing where it sends a great deal of fat to my tummy. Why it can’t be distributed evenly around my body I’ll never know.  I can tell when I gain weight because painting my toe nails becomes a bit of a contortion act. I can’t bend over my belly and breathe at the same time. Prettying up my toes is a paint, pant, paint, pant process.

“Babe, does it look like I’ve gained weight?” I asked my husband

“No Love. You look great!” he replies.

He’s quite obviously lying! He’s been known to say loads of really nice things to me to avoid me sulking or refusing to cook. He also says nice things when he thinks I’ll let him get cosy with me. The cheeky bugger!

The weather has really warmed up, so last night I took out my summer pj’s. The cutest little shorts and shirt set which I bought last summer.  I put the shorts on and to my blushing embarrassment they now fit like knickers and not at all like the shorts they are supposed to be. Break out the Banshee………. “Hells bells”, I roared, “Not this fat crap again!”

This morning it happened that I had to take a little trot to catch up to someone I wanted to talk to. I felt this really abnormal feeling behind me. My butt was bouncing wildly and a phrase my late grandfather used to say came to mind. If ever my grandpa saw a woman walking by, who had a particularly large bum, he would say “Look at her backside – It looks like two monkeys fighting in a mielie sack!” It would crack everyone up and all would be in fits of laugher. But there I was … trotting away with my butt doing the whole monkeys in the mielie sack thing! And I wasn’t laughing.

There is no debate - I have gained weight.

Although I have consistently been avoiding carbs like bread, pasta and potatoes, I do indulge in a beer or three every now and then and I eat choccies (most nights). 

I suspect the actual problem is that my meal portions have grown considerably. We are also coming out of winter so I do have the very valid excuse that winter did this to me.  

Standing at the mirror, taking a long hard look at myself I noticed the bright side of my weight gain. (Yes, there is always a bright side.) My wrinkles have far less depth. My face looks plumper and, I suppose, about as youthful as a sun damaged, hard working, stress feeling 42 year old could look.

I arrive at the crossroad of an impossible decision – 

To be thin and wrinkly or fat and wrinkle free? 

I can’t decide which would be the lesser of the two uglies?

I ponder what Mark Wahlburg would prefer?  Perhaps I’ll write to him and ask. 

And then there's the sucking option.

In November last year I received a really awesome gift for my birthday, from two of my GF’s. The gift was two free sessions of Endermolift. Endermolift is another option for people like me who are seeking a non surgical face lift.  

Endermolift entails using a pretty big machine with a small little sucker-thingy that sucks your face. Not your whole face all at once but rather, the operator moves the little sucker nozzle over your face in a suck, lift, suck, lift kind of way. The sucking stimulates blood circulation in the deep layers of your skin. It does loads of other stuff too but I can’t tell you what because I forgot. All I can say is it’s like fat fish kisses but without the wet and slimy. It feels strange at first but I’ve actually come to enjoy it.  I have been quite a few times since November, but not at all since I had Fillers.

I’ve been a bit nervous to go back because I really didn’t want Marisol to know I had cheated on her. She truly believes her machine is all I need – she has repeated time and time again – No injections – No surgery – All natural.  

After a whole month I finally plucked up the courage to go see Marisol. I figured if no one else had noticed I’d had fillers then neither would she.   When I popped in to see her today she was so happy and I realised I had really missed this little foreign lady and her face sucking machine.

Marisol is not South African. She's foreign, but I’m not certain which foreign she is. She’s definitely not Russian, Oriental, German or Australian.  I guessed she could be Portuguese but then decided perhaps she is Greek or Turkish. She couldn’t be Slovakian – I don’t know how I know that but I just do! Whatever foreign she is, it doesn’t actually matter because for some remarkable reason I can understand her. You see, she speaks to me in Foreign and I speak to her in South African.

She says: “You go too long – I like see you back – Come you lie!” 

Which in South African means - Chick, your face looks awful, it’s about time you showed up for some fixing, lie down let me see what I can do!

She continues once I’m lying down, “I take yellow - no good machine!” 

This means - I am removing your make-up because that shit stuffs up my machine!

Once she starts the sucking process she can change the suction power depending on where in the face she’s working. 

"I am too rude?” she asks concerned. 

This means - Am I hurting you?

She says, “You eyes to express, I no spend to lot time, make yellow grey.” 

This means – You talk with way to much expression, you must tone down a bit and stop being so over expressive when you tell stories. I can’t spend time sucking your eyes because I’m going to bruise you. 

When she’s done she says: “Ah, you teenage!” 

I don’t know for sure what this means but it’s something good because she is smiling broadly when she says this and looks pleased with herself.

When I’m leaving she says “You come again back, please.” 

This means - you better get your arse back on my Endermolift bed sometime very soon because this session didn’t do the trick.  

So Marisol didn’t notice I had Fillers. I’m safe! She’s oblivious to the fact that I cheated on her. All’s well that ends well!

And yet, I can’t help feeling that awful pang of disappointment that she didn’t notice, as it serves as another painful reminder of all the money I wasted on something that did nothing for me.

I was oddly overcome with curiosity as I was leaving today. 

“Marisol” I asked, “Where are you from?”

“Venezuela.” she answered, smiling.

Damn – Why didn’t I guess that?   

I suspect her smile meant that nobody ever does! 

Toodles

xxx

Out of the mouths...

See me,wrinkle free!

When I was younger working with kids was really awesome for my ego. More often than not, the little beauts would make me feel so good about myself. They would say the sweetest things.

"Good morning teacher, I like your dress!"

"Good morning teacher, your hair is so soft."

"Good morning teacher, you are sooooooooooo pretty."

"Teacher, one day when I'm big I want to be a princess just like you!"

I loved the compliments. I thrived on them.

Now, when I think back on all the beautiful compliments the kids used to pay me I just want to crumple in to a ball of suicide and cry my eyes out! You know, cry the ugly cry - snot dripping, face contorted and voice all pitched and hoarse at the same time. The little buggers never compliment me anymore. I can't remember when last I was told by a 4 year old that I am pretty!  I could blame the parents and say that modern day folk don't teach their kids any manners, but the fact of the matter is I don’t know that for a fact.  I would hate to start a rumour based on an assumption so I'm just going to have to go with..... I've got old and little kids don’t think old is pretty.

A 13 year old asked me how old I am.

“How old do you think I am?” I responded.

I don’t know what the hell I was thinking when I answered his question with a question. I walked straight into his dreadful response.

“A HUNDRED” he shouted out his guess.

It was hard not to retort. I desperately wanted to tell him that I didn’t like his shoes and that he had ugly hair and his pimples made me feel sick, but I behaved, literally biting my tongue.

“Good guess”, came my bitter reply.

“Teacher, are you a granny?” a 5 year old asked.

Another ambush that I walked straight into. There really is something wrong with me! I’m some sort of sucker for punishment.

“No sweetie, I’m not a granny. Why do you ask?”

“Because you look like one!”

Why couldn’t I just have responded with a NO? Why did I have to ask?

And, whoever it was that made it illegal to lock kids in boxes - I hate that guy. I really, really hate that guy.

“Teacher, what are all those things on your face.”

“Do you mean my freckles?”

“No, those line things!”

What I really wanted to spit back at this 6 year old was that the lines were proof that I’m not a sour puss like her mom! But again I bit my tongue, put my hands (that I was envisaging around her neck) in my pockets and smiled sweetly….

“They are the stripes that I’ve earned for being a really cool person.”

So the last 5 or so years have been very much ‘compliment free’ years. My ego has plummeted and I feel so rotten about aging and my wretched wrinkling. I have really low self esteem because I place such high value on how four year olds perceive me. (Yes… I know…. There’s something really wrong with me.)

But in my own defence, if you consider that the age of the people I spend the best part of most days with is between 2 and 13 years, what else do you expect!

And then, a compliment came in the way of a picture….

A totally unintended compliment I’m sure, but I’m grabbing it, using it, holding on to it and boosting my ego with it.

“Teacher Nat, I drew this picture for you!” said 7 year old Mpho. “It’s a picture of you with your wolf.” she explained.

I took the picture from her and scanned across the page.

“It’s beautiful my darling!” I exclaimed, holding back tears.

“It’s really, really beautiful!”

I was deeply touched -A compliment at last.

She had drawn me without wrinkles!

Currently I have enough ‘self – e – steam’ to run on for as long as the Prestik keeps the picture hanging on my office wall. I will really be putting the stick-span of Prestik to the test.   

Toodles

xxx

 

Free advice?

Since I started my little ‘whine & moan' I have been sent a total of 4 (yes, only four) tips that could possibly help me with my wrinkle dilemma. What the heck people? Help an old bag out! Where's all the advice?  Sheeez, nobody gives out free advice anymore! But anyway......  Special thanks to the four GF's that were kind enough to recommend possible solutions. 

My first offer of a possible solution came all the way from Abu Dhabi - You see, it’s the far-away friends that really care.... they can give you their beauty secrets because they don’t need to compete against your good looks. They live too far away to be threatened by your possible gorgeousness.  

Now there were no empty promises made here. Sandy was honest from the start and said she had not experimented with the capsules herself but had heard that drinking Collagen was supposed to be a great remedy for firming skin. Considering many of my wrinkles appeared after my weight loss this advice was taken very seriously and collagen capsules were acquired. The instructions read: Take three capsules at night. So, I drink three capsules every night (that I remember).

My second lot of advice came from my little (she's really short) friend, who works in the beauty department of a national pharmacy-type-store. Apparently it’s not only external factors such as sun damage that can cause wrinkles. Bad diet, not drinking enough water (let’s not go there again), free radicals, booze, and stress can all play a part in how your skin ages. It doesn’t help that I carry some seriously awful aging genes, but apparently my damage has been done from inside, outside and my family genetics. Eish! So, according to Erina I can try to fight my wrinkles from the inside too, and not just use all the creams and topical potions. Erina recommended the Nutriwoman vitamin package. This is a package that contains daily packs of vitamins - 7 (SEVEN) capsules to be taken every morning. It’s not an easy feat since half the capsules are the size of bullets. It takes a whole cup of tea to get them all down, but on the up side they really fill me up, so I can leave the house feeling like I've had breakfast even though I haven't.  I remember to take these ones daily because I keep them in the drawer with my 'pollyfiller' - otherwise known as make-up.  I've been taking them for two weeks now. No great shakes just yet - I can't see any changes other than radio-active looking pee.  

After whinging about Dr Evil and my wasted 10K I was invited to a ‘Ladies Beauty Day’ by a pal that’s probably only 3 years younger than me, but looks half my age. The information I received was that a Doctor was inviting 20 women to take part in a beauty day in which she will do a free skin analysis and have lovely specials on all her Botox and Filler packages. “Oh wow,” I thought… I already have some Filler in my face – evidently not nearly enough – so maybe I should attend the ‘cheap beauty day’ and get a top-up of Filler - perhaps then I’ll see a difference. “Sign me up – I’ll be there!”  I said happily. If it’s cheap or free I’m in!  I was added to the Whatsapp group and received some more info saying that there will even be a lucky draw and one of us lucky ladies will win something. The message doesn’t specify what, but I’m hoping its FREE FILLER! Those other chicks won’t know what’s hit them if the prize is free Filler. I’ve been known to bite, scratch and elbow people in the throat to get what I want. Those other women will have to be-very-ware!   A few days later I was added to an emailing list as more info was being sent out to all the prospective ‘old gals’ looking for a quick fix. I received the email and opened it excitedly and y’all ain’t gonna believe this…. The attending Doctor is ……………..  DR EVIL!  Should I go or shouldn’t I? Make no mistake, I’m going to be there – I’m taking this face of mine right over to that party and if I don’t get a free Filler fix I’m going be flapping my lips to all those old bats about my first very expensive, very disappointing ordeal with Dr Evil. When those girls hear that they are potentially about to waste money they’ll all be leaving that ladies party and Dr Evil will lose beeeg moola! A lot more than one free fix of Filler.  She better be good to me… or so help me, I’ll flap these lips, I’ll sing like a caged canary.  

The last piece of advice I’ve received actually came from my mom.

“Nakki-Noo” she started “there is one option and one option only – The knife!”

She continued, “You just have too much skin, my little duck! Trust me, nothing will take it away – only the knife!”  

She was using her knowing tone of voice.  

“But maaaarmie,” I whined, “I’ll upset Greg – He is pretty much against surgery for wrinkles since it’s not a life-threatening condition, and besides it costs about 100k – currently I have 85c in my wallet and a plastic card that make laughing sounds if I swipe it for more than R100. The knife is not an option for me.”

“Well,” my wise mother concluded, “then you’re just going to have to get over it!”

Whahahahahahaha.  Like that’s ever going to happen.

I’m still feeling desperate!

I’m taking free advice – But I’m not taking crap advice!

My struggle is real people, my struggle is real!

Toodles

Xxx

  

Karma drama

I was as miserable as anyone could imagine, after spending 10k and having nadda to show for it. I kept asking myself why?  Why was I so gullible?  The only answer I have is that I am 'forever hopeful'. One day I will find a wrinkle cure.

I arrived at work particularly moody a few days ago. I was feeling like I needed to lash out at someone. Just be mean and upset someone. Why should I be upset on my own. Sharing is caring, right?  So why not share the misery?   

What I was forgetting is that Karma happens to keep herself firmly attached to my left heel.  There is no karma wheel for me. My karma is instant. I have experienced instant karma on countless occasions. I'm not entirely sure why I didn't think about this little curse of mine while I was searching for an unsuspecting victim. I tend to forget very important things like this. That's another curse I have. I forget..... a lot.

I walked out on to the playground. All the little ones were sleeping and just a handful of kids were playing on the playground. All my staff were huddled in the sun trying to defrost. A little boy came to ask me for some juice and that was when I launched my assault.

"Why are you all standing there while kids are thirsty over here?" I bellowed.
That got everyone's attention! And now that I had everyone's attention I could declare war.... me against them (I'm brave that way).
"What am I paying you for? To stand in the sun? - Kids are thirsty here - get here and fix this, all of you!" I shouted,  looking as angry as I could make myself.
"I won't have laziness here," I continued, "I won't stand for it! - If you want to stand in the sun you can do it at home, not while you're on my time!" With that,  I stormed off to my office. My long jersey-coat-thingy flying behind me. I felt powerful (and much better actually) I felt like a super villan. Wonder Witch - yes, I was Wonder Witch! 

I can't think of a time that I have ever seen people more confused.  The poor women had no idea what had just happened. All four had run forward to attend to one child and all four were fighting over the cup to pour him juice. They were rattled. They were looking at each other with questioning expressions.  But no one said a word. They served the juice, patted the boy on the head and went back to their spot in the sun completely dazed by my attack.

Once in my office again, I realized I needed to visit the lavatory . This is a very happy event for me as I have a very slow, lazy 'constitution'.
As I sat on the throne and started my business I was relishing in my sly and cunning assault. I snickered and smiled an evil smile.  Now we were all upset. Yay, I was no longer 'suffering' alone. Finishing up, I reached out at the toilet roll holder and there ........ where the toilet paper usually sits.......... sat karma.

What on earth was I going to do now?

Since I'd just pissed everyone off I was stuck. I couldnt exactly call them to bring me bog roll.
Karma sat there laughing at me, laughing so hard she was snorting. Oh this was dreadful. I couldn't think. I was overcome with embarrassment. I couldn't exactly sit there all afternoon either - I had to do something. But what?

"Ok, ok... just let the dust settle for about 20 minutes." I thought to myself. "Then I can call Chante."
Chante is my youngest, most forgiving member of staff. But how was I going to call her without letting anyone else know I was embarrassingly stranded in the lav?
"Ah ha, I'll phone her." I thought.
And so I did.....
"Hello lovey" I said as sweetly as I could muster, when she answered her phone.
"Are you okay, Aunty Nat" She asked, obviously hearing some desperation in my voice. (I just can't hide these things)
"No, I'm not sweety!" I said.
"Im very upset today and it's not your fault so I'm really sorry for shouting,  but more importantly I need some loo roll right away. Will you bring me some please?"
"Of course Aunty Nat" she said "I'll be there right now."   I cannot begin to express how dear this young girl is. She saved me that day. But you can be sure she had a great big 'behind my back' giggle.

I may never have seen her laughing but I know she did. She laughed and laughed, I'm sure of it. And as for instant Karma..... she got me again. And she laughed too. She laughed and laughed and laughed.