Not such a hot housewife

WE had a few old friends (male) over on the weekend which is always a hoot, because my husband and I have known these guys for years and they are a lot of fun.

As always, talk turned to the gutter as we went over who was getting what with whom. It was at this point that I learned something about men. They think housewives are all hot hornbags. Well these ones do anyway.

I should explain, two are tradies - a sparkie and a chippie, the other sells domestic air-conditioning units. They spend a lot of time at other people's houses.

They were comparing notes about the jobs they had done where the women of the house were...hot. It seems, according to these guys, that there are a lot of women in Perth who are kinda bored and spend time at home looking hot and flirting with tradesmen and salesmen.

Although none had actually done anything naughty with a hot housewife, there was enough flirting and nudity spotting to keep the boys happy.
Which led me to evaluate myself. Was I not young and okay looking? How come I had never flirted with any tradies or salesmen. Most that come to my house see me in either my pyjamas or tracksuits, dirty hair and some food stains on my shoulder.

I decided it was time to become a hot housewife. Starting now.
SO yesterday I actually showered before 5pm and BLOW-DRIED my hair. Scared the little one half to death as I dont think she had ever seen a hairdryer before.

I chose my clothes carefully. My very tight skinny jeans which I bought in a fit of madness after I had fallen pregnant with the first guy. Big D designer, big price and I had never actually worn them.

My highest, hot, stilettos. Yeah and a white shirt - to hell with the risk of actually staining it. I was wearing white baby.

All was going to plan - until I decided to get those jeans done up.
Note here that I had already put on my shoes - thought it would be easier to bend over and do this before I did up my fly because my tummy is a little......um.....round.

So here I was trying my best to get up my fly, my muffin top getting bigger and muffin-ish-er by the second. I did this teetering around on my high heels. On floor boards, with food scraps on the floor.

Because I am a clown, I also made a silly dance to keep the kids happy. I shouldnt have because I slipped at that moment on a piece of nectarine skin.

OOOOH ouch did it hurt as I twisted my ankle under me and my entire body collapsed.

To add insult to the injury, I then had to lie on the floor and attempt to take my jeans OFF, with two little kids climbing on me and pulling my hair.
After I regained composure and got my body out of those stupid clothes I returned to my uniform of tracksuit pants and a crappy shirt. With my tail humbly between my legs.

The good news is that although I did twist my ankle and it swelled up nice and sore, none of my clothes or shoes are damaged.

But really, I think the whole hot housewife thing is just a myth.

Desperate Housewives has a lot to answer for. Noone really dresses that well just to stay at home - well maybe in the western suburbs they do, but not in East Victoria Park!

Putting the FAT in FATigue

WHAT is it about being exhausted that makes a woman (well, this woman anyway) put copious amounts of sugar and fat laden shit down her throat?

It's not like I need the extra sugar for all the exercise I am doing. I am not getting to the gym the way I used to, nor am I going for all the walks I promised myself when daylight saving finally got introduced.

No, I spend most of the time either chasing the kids or on my bottom. Which is expanding. FAST. It has come to the stage now that I am handing down my 'skinny' clothes to my MUM. She is 55 years old and a size 10. I can no longer squeeze my bottom into my old jeans and I am 30.

So I moan and complain and then I put cake into my mouth and that stops the moaning for about a minute. It doesn't help that I like baking. I AM a housewife after all so I make cakes... a lot. And I eat them a lot too!

When we don't have cakes I eat biscuits. When we run out of these I eat MILO! Oh it is so wrong but so good too. I sit there at the counter with a big spoon and pile it into my mouth.

But the bigger I get, the less inclined I am to do any exercise. I am exhausted after all. So there starts the nasty cycle - I am tired therefore I eat crap. I am tired therefore I don't exercise. I am getting fat because I eat crap and don't exercise. I eat more and exercise less because I feel crap and fat.

Which is why I believe sheer and total exhaustion is called FATigue.

grotty underwear on parade

This morning we took the boy down to swimming lessons. We all head down nice and early to the new pools at Somerset St and it is very nice and shiny. Swimming lessons are fairly expensive in my opinion, which is why, possibly, there are a lot of well dressed mothers there.

I dont know where they come from really. Perhaps they are from Kensington or South Perth. Even Victoria Park. But not East Vic Park. East Vic Park is a bit too grotty for their blow-dried hair and beaded necklaces. And MAKE-UP! Now I do love make-up and I love nice clothes and I really, really love getting dressed up. But not on a Saturday morning and not at the local pool.

Anyhow, knowing that the Saturday-morning mums are a fairly well dressed sort, I actually make the effort to have a shower and wear clean clothes. Well, not my pyjamas anyway.

But, as always, mornings are a rush. Saturday mornings more so because we actually have to be fed and dressed and out the door before nine.

So, as usual, I jumped in the shower, jumped out, grabbed my jeans off the floor (where I left them last night), pulled on a clean shirt (a designer one at that) and ran out the door to the waiting car with my dear husband, the two-year old and the little miss.

We rushed the short drive to the pool and we rushed in. The little guy ran ahead, followed by dad carrying the bags and then me carrying the baby.
As we walked to the littlies pool (the far end of the centre) I felt something falling down the legs of my pants. And there it was. I was HORRIFIED to see that yesterday's undies (or knickers for the classier amongst us) had just fallen out of my jeans.

Before I thought to just keep walking I turned around and picked them up and then looked up to see if anyone had noticed. Oh and boyo they had - the event happened right in front of a bench full of Saturday-morning mums and dads and they saw the whole thing. Some looked disgusted, some looked amused, some looked away in embarrassment for me.

But they had all seen my grotty, worn, once-were-blue but now a bit stretched and faded, Friday undies.

Unfortunately I then had to sit through a whole half-hour swimming lesson, feeling totally and utterly undignified.

Did it matter that I was wearing Sass and Bide on top? NO because I have grotty, Target undies underneath and now everyone knows so.

not quite a horn-bag

A LITTLE while ago, I registered to MySpace to see what all the fuss was about. I had a look around but gave it away because most of the people there:

a) were under the age of 20; and
b) had woefully bad grammar and this is something I just cannot handle in large proportions.

Even so, not long after I registered (under the bland and not-so-accurate name of 'Happy Housewife') I started getting lots of invitations to join groups - all of which had the same thing in common.

"Come join our sexy-web cam group";
"Sexy, naked web-cam group invites you to join";
"Come join the fun in our online sex-chat group".

Well I obviously have had sex twice as I have two children but since I haven't had a decent sleep since 2002, I dont know why anyone would think I have some kind of strange desire to get it on with complete strangers over the net.

I am aware that people do. I have an acquaintance who up and left her husband and teenage daughters to run away with an American man she met on MySpace. But really, what woman - with two under three - would really have the time or inclination?

And what does this group think they will get with me? A webcam in my house would not show anything too pretty.

Think mis-matched and dirty pyjamas at any time of the day, think long, bad hair that only sees a hairdresser twice a year, think sunken eyes, think acne from eating too much Milo!

Oh and yes, if you are lucky enough to see me partly naked on the way to the shower, just imagine what you will get then!

Hairy legs, possible hairy armpits - and my bikini line? There is no bikini line! That region is far more Amazonian rainforest than Brazillian, I guarantee. But that's not all, I can also offer a belly that has seen two babies but no crunches for years (except for the chocolate-bar variety), stretch-marks, hanging boobs all encased in grotty, old underwear from Target.

Are there really people out there who want to see this? I very much doubt it. I dont want to see it!

Or in some land far away, do people actually think housewives with two littlies are sitting at home, aching for a bit of jiggy-jig, because they are so full of life and energy? Honestly, Desperate Housewives has a LOT to answer for.

Needless to say, I didn't join any sexy webcam groups, nor do I get online for a bit of nookie with strangers.

questions of fasion, taste and age

I have a dilemma - it is a beautifyl Wayne Cooper bubble dress.
My dilemma is not that it is too expensive on my housewife wage, nor is it that I have nowhere to wear such a pretty frock (both are true but not prohibitive).

No, my dilemma is whether or not I am too old to wear a bubble skirt.
My mum, who is my style guru, has an expression "never re-visit a fashion". In other words, if you wore it the first time around, you will look too old and silly to wear it this time.

This advice, along with other pearls of mum-fashion-wisdom has kept me from looking like a total idiot in the past few years. But the bubble dress is an issue - it is reminiscent of a dress I wore to my year seven formal in 1988.

Now 1988 was a wonderful year for music and fashion. If you like Rick Astley and Bros. Which I do (tee hee I do love the anonyminity of this blog).

I also wore polka dots (which I have allowed myself to wear this year) , rara-skirts, figure-belts and a nice, kylie-esque perm (which I will never do again). But, at 30, will I look silly in a bubble skirt??

Of course, having somewhere to wear it would help the decision. My social calendar is so far - wiggles concert, Honeypot playgroup Christmas party.

No one would really appreciate the beauty of a Wayne Cooper frock at these do-s and I may end up with nasty stains in the process (similar to my last Wayne Cooper frock which came to an untimely demise thanks to a full glass of red wine).

Oh at Christmas time I do long for pink champagne and parties where grown-ups get pissed and say silly things to the boss / client / mail-boy. I long for buying new clothes just for these parties.

Perhaps I would not be too old if I wasnt too tired. But I am tired and sunken eyes and exhaustion don't go well with designer frocks.

Just plain wrong uses for expesive cosmetics....

I am glad I am not the nanny for the Von Trapp kids. Mainly because I can barely cope with two, let alone...how many were there? And because I could never come up with words which rhyme with my favourite things...ie my Clinique Superdefense Moisturizing Lotion (mmm, not quite a brown paper package tied with string there).

Anyhoo, I do love my moisturiser, partly because it is a little link back to my life where I used to be able to afford nice cosmetics. I am not sure if it really works. I still look 30. I am 30. Go figure. I am a sucker when it comes to slick marketing.

But today I read something very odd on the label. It said to consult a doctor before using it on a child under the age of six months.

Now why anyone would use bloody expensive moisturiser on a tiny baby is beyond me. To slow the signs of ageing??? Um, sorry this is just plain crazy. Yes, your six month old will show signs of ageing. You actually would hope it does. You have too much money if you put such costly stuff on your baby. Give some to me please.

Is anyone really this stupid? Why why why???? Gives a new meaning to smooth as a baby's bum anyway...

Pyjamas in public and other fashion faux pas

How did it come to this?
I wore my pyjamas in public. And not just in public, but down to my local shopping centre which is big enough to have a Coles and a Target. You know you have sunk very, very low when you do this! It gets worse...but more about that later.

Quick background - but this excuse could not be used as a defence! My baby is still sick and I decided to take her to the doctor. I got an appointment this morning but I...had...to...leave...NO W. So between brushing two sets of teeth (mine and my two-year-old's), getting him to do a wee, getting his shoes on, getting a bag with a spare nappy for the bub, my wallet, mobile, sunnies etc I was already late.

And I looked in my wardrobe and well, I was late and my jammies aren't THAT bad. They aren't twee little jammies from Bras & Things with cartoon characters (no adult should wear these in private OR public) nor are they trendy Peter Alexander patterned types. They are plain Target jammies. I think they are even called all-day-wear (marketed at gullible, lazy mums like me obviously). The pants are soft grey and the top is a grey and blue striped singlet.

So I closed my eyes and shut the door behind me. But this is where it gets worse! I didnt have the time to put on my joggers so I chucked on THONGS! So I have long pant - jammies and black thongs. I cant even visualise it without getting shivers.

Please remember that I was once the type who got joy from seeing clothes I owned featured in nice magazines like Marie Claire. I knew my Sass&Bide from my Scanlan and Theodore. I had a Ruth Tarvydas frock long before they started showing up at the Brownlow Medal count and Logie Awards. Now here I am with jammies and thongs in public. Oh how the mighty have fallen!

On the way back from the doctors, I thought I would just 'pop' into Coles to pick up some essentials like milk and nappies (I think the sleep deprivation was to blame for such a tragic decision). So I went where there was population - people I possibly knew - wearing my pyjamas. God help me. It was like being on drugs though I was SO paranoid that people were looking at me (look at that poor, poor woman in her PYJAMAS!).

Luckily my life is pretty mundane and not like a story from the 'Girls Night In' series of books so I didnt run into any past loves, past friends who are now successful and beautiful, clients or family. But it was too much to take. I will never, ever do it again. Please dont tell my mum.

Actually, there arent any other fashion faux pas' here, but it was a nice title. Lets face it, this one was enough to last a while. Other musings on fashion for another day. I have more sheets to get off the line and bottles to boil.