… The Wombles of Wimbledon Common are we.

I want to be a womble. A nice simple life, keeping everything clean and tidy. No fuss, no complications, only one thing to have to think about.

Life has become too complicated.

I want to be a smurf. I’m already the right height for it. A bit of makeup and I’d look just spiffy.

I already am a muppet. It’s already been proved. Yes you found out my secret… I am Miss Piggy, or more precisely I am the love child of Miss Piggy and her blender baster (that’s a sperm cocktail delivered by turkey baster power for those what don’t know) Since the sperm cocktail was genetically engineered, I am a little bit of Kermit, part animal, smidgen of old guys, a dash of fozzie bear, a splash of rizzo and a whopping big dollop of gonzo.

*instructions of use*

Store this product in the supplied applicator in the fridge. Use immediately after opening, do not reseal. Shake gently before use.

Quality assured

For the past half hour I may have wanted to be a womble and a smurf and am already a muppet, but I looked more like a beached whale.

I’m not a happy bunny today.

I fell flat on my face in the kitchen. Fell on my arm, which went numb, and couldn’t get my legs to function.

I lay there for half an hour trying to get back onto my feet, while the dog stood and complained that I wasn’t going quick enough because she wanted me to put her on the sofa.

Somehow I’m guessing this means I won’t be going back to work next week. I’m also guessing that it’s not really a good sign.

If I wasn’t so hungry at the time, it would have been quite funny. Hmmm *thinks about it again* ok, maybe not.

I’m not having much of a week this week.

*growl*