I have a pair of jeans for sale on ebay. They are very smart jeans purchased years ago in a thin moment but I was a bit overoptimistic. I never actually managed to cram my fat backside into them and the legs were stupidly tight. I was going to take them back to Selfridges but the girl was a bit snotty so I never summoned up the courage to go back for fear I might burst into tears with "My bum's too big and I can't fit it into your stupid trousers and it's all your fault for frightening me and making me buy them." I just left them in my wardrobe to grow. Three years later I have put them on ebay as never worn, brand spanking new jeans. Nobody likes them. I now feel sorry for them sitting there all unbid for with only a day to go. Maybe I'll get Designer Susan to bid them up a bit for me - they're even less likely to fit her!
I went to a party with Mr Smith last night. I had avoided the previous two on the grounds of ill health or some other such lame excuse. I really had to go to this one for fear of people thinking it might be terminal. It was dull except the brilliant Callista was there and she's great fun. I did have a jolly time - I think. I certainly had a hangover this morning but not too awful. There was a horrid woman there who I hated with a vengeance when my children were babes and I remembered why. She was bossy, snotty and horribly good at games, particularly tennis and was extraordinarily mean to me when I turned up to my first (and last) ladies tennis morning with my old school dunlop maxply racquet - they all had titanium ones ... several. She looks a hundred years old but can't be a lot older than me - must be all that rushing about the tennis court. I'd rather be fat jolly me with not an inkling of bat and ball sense whatsoever. I flirted with her husband.
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