The Palace Park

The Palace Park

Monday, 14 September 2009


So, it may surprise you to learn that, little Fanglet, that I am not overly good at sharing my toys. Well, I'm not very good at sharing a particular toy: money.  I'm not.

I'm gregarious, social and outgoing on the surface but these are skills that were developed in order to S U R V I V E; they are not my true nature. My true nature, my gorgeous little parasitic muffin, is much surlier than that. I am a lone wolf. Okay, maybe a lone golden retriever.  A hostile teenager. A knocked up hostile teenager. I'm so chuffed, little minnow, I can't tell ya!!

There are many things I am not: I am not a morning person, I am not really a constant cuddler. I am also not really into sharing my space or my stuff on a daily basis. Friends borrowing clothes and books? No problem! Husband wanting to know my monthly income or borrow £20: Get stuffed, turkey butt! Now, this comes from my upbringing. My mama and daddy didn't play nicely when it came to money. Mama owned the pursestraps and Daddy spent a great deal of time and energy trying to run rings around said straps. And when that didn't work. . . well, we'll save that for when you're older. Let is suffice to say that your mama operates from the mindset that she's gonna do whatever she wants, whenever she wants. Usually, this is fine. Usually, mama is medicated and can be reasoned with. But sometimes, well sometimes irrationality sets in and that £450 Vivienne Westwood dress just cannot be resisted. It needs me. Truly.  And so I buy Vivienne, I take her home, I wear her, and then I have to hide the tags.

In addition to being tired and craving mashed potatoes (that's all. Just mashed potatoes. For dinner. On their own. They were good. I might have 'em again tonight. Yummmm. Mashed Potatoes), money weighs like a spector. Neither your dad or I are very good at saving money. We're squanderbirds. We don't mean to be and we try to save but every time that nest egg gets big enough to nest on, we need new tires for the car, or the dishwasher catches fire, or we have to throw party. Or mama needs new flooring. I know. Life, as I have already told you, is hard. So are my new floors. ; ) But we try.  I suppose I'm just trying to prepare you for a life of love and warmth and dubious financial planning.

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