September 01, 2010

My Sore Patchanga (and it's not what you think)

So yesterday I upset the gods of good house-keeping. Anthea Turner and Martha Stewart obviously read my post and decided to send evil omens my way.

Yes, I spent the night up with Jack, who as it turns out after a quick SOS trip to the doctor this morning, is suffering from a middle ear infection and a chest infection. Double Whammy. I am running on about 3 hours sleep broken up into 45 minute shifts caught between getting kicked in the patchanga by a wriggling son in my bed. Mr Woog slept soundly in the spare room snoring gently as a result of consumption of half a bottle of red wine. He did deliver my coffee as per usual and told me about the beautiful day outside, making him an instant marked man.

So now I am dealing with a 4 year old suffering man flu - except that this time it is diagnosed and being treated with Ammoxil. Does that mean I cannot drink? I certainly hope not.

4 year old man-flu is very different from 36 year old man flu. Firstly he does not stumble pathetically around the house. He actually goes to the doctor. He does not need hot/cold packs. He takes his medicine when told. And he sure as shit does not remind you that he feels sick every 7 seconds.

But not everyone is on my side here. I have a nasty lurker/troll who believes I give Mr Woog a very hard time, amongst other issues. If you continue to piss me off Mr, I will have no choice but to publish your email address. OR feature a weekly column on you. In fact that would be ok by me - send a photo of yourself you hideous cretin. Or your address and I can send you a newly minted Woogsworld T-Shirt. I will get SawHole to deliver it.

Unless you guys have a better idea??
Signing off tired and emotional
Mrs Woog
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