Tag Archives: humor

See Saw Margery Daw by Felicity Fox

Felicity Fox
The Vixen

Not content with conquering the business world. Done with the dinner  parties and wine bars, avoiding questions of marriage and notions of babies. Until now.

Striding past me in their beige perfect pram occupied by one.

I, a few years down the line, stagger past with my buggy weighed down with jackets, plastic bags and anything I’ve managed to pick up along the way.

Passed the brasseries and quaint little pubs, I prefer to picnic in large open spaces where people are few.

Off to the park for some respite and to gather with equally stressed, sleep deprived and irate parents. There’s a reason for stereotypes and cliches. And if you don’t fit this bill, then you have a nanny or hired help of some kind. We’re all watching over our precious offsprings and glaring at one another, it’s territorial.

Stepping across the boundary and into the playpark, the babes are off in hot pursuit of a swing or a sea-saw, stamping their authority among their kind. Darwin’s theory played out.

Princes and princesses, one or two precocious parents and we’re all fenced in. We’re in one of Nappy Valley’s favourite haunts. There’s lots of oohing and ahhing and niceties. It’s very child focused. Well, it is a park. I’m eyeing up the coffee stand.

Hot on the heels of my little cubs, ready to diffuse potential situations, and it isn’t long before there is a situation at the sea-saw. A coveted apparatus. There’s a child parked on one side and my five-year old is tipping the balance to the other side, as one might expect.

It’s a tandem made for two. Not in these parts. Speaking through the medium of her child, the mother is purporting that there’s a big boy on the other side.

“Hello, I’m right here.”

“Just wait a moment until the big boy gets off and you can have your shot.” But sea-saws require two in our parts.

Rising above my patronising and selfish opponent, I too embrace the medium of my child to strike back.

“He’s just a little boy, be gentle. He’ll be off in a minute. Just give him a little shot.”

Parks are precarious places, if it’s not dogs it’s kids.

We each place our hands on the opposing sides of the sea-saw, without making eye contact and the games begin.

“That’s it, up and down, each waiting for the other to crack.”

Total glee as my opponent’s offspring throws the first tantrum. Ha ha, your brat’s not sharing. I’m quite simply delighted and I think I’m smirking.

It could have gone either way, it was touch and go for a moment as I thought my five-year old was about to start. But he didn’t let the side down. Ice-cream all round.

The shrieking continues as the boy is scraped off the sea-saw, howling as he goes. He’s not for budging as I watch on in total amusement.

His hands are being pried off by his mother who’s obviously annoyed about the architectural concept of a sea-saw and the notion that it requires two.

Ready in the wings is my three year old, rubbing salt in the wounds by hopping on.

The dad’s back and they are both pleading for calm. It’s a spectacle. Arms flying and legs kicking, I’ve been on the receiving end but today I’m the spectator.

And it feels naughty, even childish, but oh so good.

By Felicity Fox ©

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See Saw Margery Daw by Felicity Fox

Felicity Fox
The Vixen

Not content with conquering the business world. Done with the dinner   parties and wine bars, avoiding questions of marriage and notions of babies. Until now.

Striding past me in their beige perfect pram occupied by one.

I, a few years down the line, stagger past with my buggy weighed down with jackets, plastic bags and anything I’ve managed to pick up along the way.

Passed the brasseries and quaint little pubs, I prefer to picnic in large open spaces where people are few.

Off to the park for some respite and to gather with equally stressed, sleep deprived and irate parents. There’s a reason for stereotypes and cliches. And if you don’t fit this bill, then you have a nanny or hired help of some kind. We’re all watching over our precious offsprings and glaring at one another, it’s territorial.

Stepping across the boundary and into the playpark, the babes are off in hot pursuit of a swing or a sea-saw, stamping their authority among their kind. Darwin’s theory played out.

Princes and princesses, one or two precocious parents and we’re all fenced in. We’re in one of Nappy Valley’s favourite haunts. There’s lots of oohing and ahhing and niceties. It’s very child focused. Well, it is a park. I’m eyeing up the coffee stand, ready to get a caffeine hit to get me through.

Hot on the heels of my little cubs, ready to diffuse potential situations, and it isn’t long before there is a situation at the sea-saw. A coveted apparatus. There’s a child parked on one side and my five-year old is tipping the balance to the other side, as one might expect.

It’s a tandem made for two. Not in these parts. Speaking through the medium of her child, the mother is purporting that there’s a big boy on the other side.

Hello, I’m right here.

“Just wait a moment until the big boy gets off and you can have your shot.” But sea-saws require two in our parts.

Rising above my patronising and selfish opponent, I too embrace the medium of my child to strike back.

“He’s just a little boy, be gentle. He’ll be off in a minute. Just give him a little shot.”

Parks are precarious places, if it’s not dogs it’s kids.

We each place our hands on the opposing sides of the sea-saw, without making eye contact and the games begin.

“That’s it, up and down, each waiting for the other to crack.”

Total glee as my opponent’s offspring throws the first tantrum. Ha ha, your brat’s not sharing. I’m quite simply delighted and I think I’m smirking.

It could have gone either way, it was touch and go for a moment as I thought my five-year old was about to start. But he didn’t let the side down. Ice-cream all round.

The shrieking continues as the boy is scraped off the sea-saw, howling as he goes. He’s not for budging as I watch on in total amusement.

His hands are being pried off by his mother who’s obviously annoyed about the architectural concept of a sea-saw and the notion that it requires two.

Ready in the wings is my three year old, rubbing salt in the wounds by hopping on.

The dad’s back and they are both pleading for calm. It’s a spectacle. Arms flying and legs kicking, I’ve been on the receiving end but today I’m the spectator.

And it feels naughty, even childish, but oh so good.

By Felicity Fox ©

Snug as a bug in a rug by Felicity Fox

Felicity Fox

It doesn’t lift, nip or tuck. It is the single most unattractive garment.

Unless you’re 2, but even that’s no excuse.

It’s pitiful.

Who wants to see lumps and bumps, twinkles and nipples? Not me. Lycra, ban it.

Stretched to the max, it doesn’t sculpt or shape. Men in particular, red speedos are an abhorrent blight upon the eye. No matter the body type, there’s a function for that part of a man’s anatomy, and it is certainly not for decoration.

Women too, shame on you, our grandmothers gave us the revolutionary sculpting 50’s bathing suits, and yet we’ve replaced them with an itsy bitsy teenie weenie riding up bikini.

It is God awful.

Not only did I have to suffer the pee ridden pool on another wet and windy summer’s day but I was aghast at the spectacles, or was it the testicles.

Laid bare for all to see, Lycra hugs all the wrong places, serving them up on a dish.

And, as if I didn’t have enough to cope with this long summer without all this bollocks.

© Felicity Fox

Living the Dream by Felicity Fox

4am Move over.
6:45 Wake up.
7:00 Dress.
7:15 Eat; brush.
7:30 Get in car; drive.
7:45 Sing songs whilst making lists in head: “This old man he had one.”
(Must try to finish list today)
8:00 Annoy driver who is up rear by harsh braking.
8:20 Throw child into nursery with complete strangers.
8:30 At desk, poised and professional.
8:35 Must drink coffee; make lists.
9am Discuss last night’s programmes.
Must check car lights are off.
9:30 Try writing another list, one which is more achievable.
10am More coffee.
10:30 Write irrelevant, insignificant and throughly boring release.
10.31 Must find new job.
11am Meet to plan meeting, must write contact report, i.e a list
Procrastinate and discuss last night’s X rated programme instead.
11:00 Coffee.
11.30 Tweet, Facebook and write happy stories for several bleary hours.
Coffee, surf and coffee, ignore majority of emails as they’re not on the to do. Stick to the plan.
5pm Finish.
5:05 Car dead. Must have left lights on.
5:10 Jump leads.
5:15 On the road.
5:20 In traffic.
6:00 Uni starts.
6:15 Fly into class.
6:16 What is he talking about?
6:20 Warrandice?
6:20-8-00pm – Nope. Make lists of Uni work to do, plus finish To Dos tomorrow.
8:00 Go Home.
8:30 Put Rollers in.
8:45 Make up.
9.00 Rollers out and Hairspray.
9:30 Back in Car.
Pick up Dancers.
10pm Arrive at club.
10:30 Dance.
11.00 Dance again.
11.30 Question life.
11.45 Drive Home.
12:00 Write blog.
Make a mental note to go to bed.
Check Twitter.
Who’s crying?
Must sleep before they get up.
Brush; Bed