funny

The Unsung Mum and the Halloween Howler

It’s Saturday afternoon and The Spratts are trying on their Halloween costumes for a friend’s Halloween party later on. The Unsung Mum is weirdly chirpy today, and can’t wait to see her little cherubs in their delightful costumes.

Nothing will break her happy mood. Not even when The Kid changes her mind 34567 times over which costume to wear.

The Unsung Mum is not deterred, though. How hard could it be to find a princess ninja spaceman suit?

Grabbing her trusted phone, she starts to google like a fucking maniac on heat, hoping beyond hope that a local shop might still have a few costumes left on Halloween eve eve. While her little darlings are playing quietly, she frantically opens and shuts the front door hoping that Poundland has mysteriously moved next door to her house.

Crap, it hasn’t.

While making a wholesome lunch for her sweethearts, she overhears them playing together and thinks what lovely children she is raising.

‘Right,’ she thinks. ‘I must look harder.’

While The Spratts sit down and eat ALL their lunch, The Unsung Mum quickly scurries through Pinterest and finds some really great ideas from other top mums.

Here we are, a homemade spaceman princess ninja suit. No, wait a second, that’s a fetish site, how the hell did she get there?

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Collab: F*cking Annoying Gym Types

It’s guest post time, and as normal, the amazing Sam at Mouse, Moo & Me Too has bloody nailed it.

 My complete opposite exercise wise, Sam nails why going to the gym in the dead of night can have you sweating your ass off next to the…errr…more eccentric of society.

 Enjoy!       

Now that I’m the proud careful lady owner of two children who sadly can’t be left unattended in the house, I have to keep rather unsociable hours at the gym. I’m talking your 9pms, your 6ams, the real arsehole time slots that simultaneously bring out the devouts and the weirdos.

Why not join me in a game of Gymbum Bingo, and see how many you recognise? (Er, I cross my heart that all links between names and stereotypes are fictitious, honest guv.)

Mike, the abominator
Mike is built like fucking King Kong, and lords it about the hardcore weights section in one of those 80’s vests that has an armpit opening so vast, his entire torso hangs out the side. Mike is aiming to break the world HGV-pulling record, and gurns his way through the weight increments. When he approaches his one-rep limit, he likes to have a friend on standby to brace him in position just in case he drops something and manages to concuss himself, or bust a hole in the gym floor.

Jasmine, the Victoria’s Secret ambassador
Jasmine is sooooooooo fucking pert and pretty. She doesn’t even need to be in the bastard gym. She goes purely to show off her threads, bedecked as she is in garments from the Pink range at VS, with coordinating nail varnish and trainers. Do you know how much that stuff costs? Even with her NUS discount she’s probably spent a good hundred quid on that ONE look. And her winged eyeliner is perfect, and seemingly smudgeproof. Bitch.

Des, the ripened stilton
Des had a heart attack in 1994 and since then, has adopted a militant regime that has turned his calf muscles to sinewy, veined glory. Des wears a headband and pulls his white socks almost to knee height. Des avoids the weight machines in case they send something into spasm, but he will give the cross-trainer a damn good thrashing for a solid hour. He has orange squash in his water bottle, and carries his towel and spare clothes in a Head holdall. Des holds the door open, we love Des.

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