A PLUS AND MINUS RANT

The other day someone tweeted that the leading actresses in Working Girl were 2 sizes larger than they would be in a movie today!

Today Ryan Tubridy had an item on his radio programme about what he kept referring to as ‘Supersize’ models. He did finally get it right and used the ‘correct’ term Plus Size models.

But here’s the crunch – Plus Size Models are generally anything over a size 10. Yep – that’s right OVER A SIZE 10. Plus Size models are usually sizes 12, 14 or 16. So, girls – anyone over a size 10 is a Plus Size – in the modelling world. Now I will admit that I couldn’t listen to the full item on the programme.. but I am appalled. What kind of bullshit is this? What message does this send to our daughters?

So I am stating right here – loud and clear.

SIZES 12 – 16 ARE NORMAL, REAL, WOMEN WITH BOOBS AND BUMS.
THEY ARE THE WAY THAT WOMEN ARE MEANT TO LOOK.
PLUS SIZE SURELY COULD PERHAPS BE SOMEONE LIKE DAWN FRENCH (bless her!).

So I want to start a campaign to state that models and actresses of tiny sizes – 4 to 10 presumably ARE NOT NORMAL. They should henceforth be called MINUS SIZE MODELS unless they are children, who are meant to be that size.

I am reminded of the infamous quote given by Kate Moss who said “nothing tastes as good as skinny feels”. Well Kate, you must never have experienced what it feels like to be voluptuous and abundant! It looks and I am sure feels far sexier than looking like an undernourished boy!
And another note to the two Scarey Mary's pictured above - Kate and Victoria - when you are that skinny you look like you have the wrong head on!

OK - rant over! Feel better now. Normal Blogging service will be resumed over the weekend!

Sex Education 4 Girls

This is apparently an actual extract from a sex education school textbook for girls printed in the early 60’s in the UK. Read it and weep!!!

“When retiring to the bedroom prepare yourself for bed as promptly as possible. Whilst feminine hygiene is of the utmost importance, your tired husband does not want to queue for the bathroom as he would have to do for his train. But remember to look your best when going to bed. Try to achieve a look that is welcoming without being obvious. If you need to apply face-cream or hair rollers wait until he is asleep as this can be shocking to a man last thing at night. When it comes to the possibility of intimate relations with your husband it is important to remember your marriage vows and in particular your commitment to obey him.

If he feels that he needs to sleep immediately then so be it. In all things be led by your husband’s wishes. Should your husband suggest congress then agree humbly all the while being mindful that a man’s satisfaction is more important than a woman’s. When he reaches his moment of fulfilment a small moan from yourself is encouraging to him and quite sufficient to indicate any enjoyment that you may have had. It is likely that your husband will then fall promptly asleep so adjust your clothing, freshen up and apply your night time face and hair care products.

You may then set the alarm so that you can arise before him in the morning to enable you to have his morning cup of tea ready when he wakes.”

So… if this 'handbook' was being rewritten today what should be included as vital information for young girls of today? Here are just some pointers which I think should be included:

If you are a stay at home wife/mother with little or no financial clout in your relationship, remember that you do have at your disposal a tool that is much more powerful in aiding your negotiating skills. That tool is sex. Withholding sex is probably one of the most effective ways to encourage your man to see things your way.

Remember girls, that your role as wife does not include his automatic right to sex whenever he wishes. Sex is your gift to your husband – use it wisely!

A few well chosen words, as you stroke his ‘ego’ can work wonders and bring rapid resolution to all kinds of otherwise contentious subjects which, outside the bedroom could lead to explosive rows and days of sulking. Make sure girls, that while your hands are working their magic, your brain is also working away to capitalise on the fact that men don’t multi task and so while his manhood is busy, his brain has gone into sexual meltdown.

If all this is too much to remember, may I refer students to study Gabrielle in Desperate Housewives – she has all the above down to a fine art. And whereas I would never advocate an affair.... her gardener was so cute!!!!

(Written with tongue firmly in cheek...... emmmm... my own that is)

HONEST SCRAP

Thanks so much to Ann over at Inkpots 'n Quills for my first award here at From My Kitchen Table!

In order to accept this award, I have to share 10 Honest Things about myself and then pass it on to ten more blogs.

So here goes with Ten (Honest) Things About Moi!

1. I hate fish. All fish, including those hiding in shells. I hate how they taste, how they look and how the smell! If you are ever invited to dinner chez moi, you can be assured you will never get anything that came from water to eat!

2. I love Owls. I want one.

3. I hate perfume and other artificial smells.

4. I love America and Americans (big generalisation, I know). I would love to go back this year for holidays, The Carolinas are calling me. We will see what happens.

5. I hate dishonesty. So you can rest assured that all this riveting information is absolutely true.

6. I believe in Angels.

7. I hate surprises (shhhh, but think I might be a bit of a control freak).

8. I live baking in the afternoon.

9. I hate being driven. (See surprises). I will drive, thanks.

10. I think I may have been Spanish or Italian in a former life, because I feel very at home in both countries.

Now for the hard bit: Ten Wonderful Blogs....

I pass this award on to:

Head Above Water
Irish Wanderings
Joy Frequencies
Mia's Room
My Little Notepad
Sort of Witty
Emerging Writer
Dot Com
Shenanigans

And I know that is 9... but 9 good ones!

STRIPPED DOWN VALENTINES

I have just issued a warning to my dearly beloved (yes he who is also married to his Saab) that he is NOT to purchase a big bouquet of flowers on our already stressed Visa Card tomorrow. And as the only flowers I like are generally big bouquets of exotic jungle-like blooms, which cost a fortune, he is not to buy me flowers. Recession means a card will be fine. But if I am completely truthful, I would love and cherish a card made by himself using the kid’s markers, pens and paints. But he won’t, so I won’t dwell on that dream, ‘cos it will only make me grumpy.

Our last Valentine’s Dinner out was some years ago. That year, I thought it would be nice to do an old fashioned meal in quiet hotel in Killiney, which had a lovely dining room overlooking the bay. I thought it was bound to be quiet and the only other patrons would likely be old married couples gone way beyond flashy and trashy shows of their deep affection for each other. So the table was booked and we arrived in the bar clutching menus about half an hour beforehand. We had a quiet drink and I was thinking that this was very civilised and just want I wanted. We chatted while we waited for the Maitre D’ to show us down to our table, which he duly did. As I stepped over the threshold into this smart dining room my heart sank. And mine was the only heart to sink, for every other visible heart in the room (and there were many) were floating in the air, one suspended above each of the otherwise elegantly laid tables. There were sparkly hearts on the wall. We were shown to our table in this room full of equally embarrassed looking couples and we dined sheepishly under the shadow of this large helium filled red heart which hung over our heads like a cartoon arrow. “Look here is another pretending to be loved up couple” it proclaimed. I vowed never again.

So now romance is a night in, just the two of us, table laid, wine ‘breathing’ and fire lit. And after a chat and our dinner, we retire for dessert to the fireside. There is not a balloon or heart in sight, only perhaps the vase of mad flowers in the corner – although they won’t be here this year either. And now that I think of it Valentine’s is Sunday this year, the day of The Big Sunday Family Roast Dinner. Sherwood, you had better make that home made card after all!!!!

RTE HEROES RETURN TO MOTHER STATION

RTE is currently desperately trying to put together a ‘Debriefing Programme’ to assist their two distressed journalists who are returning to the mother station after deeply shocking experiences out in the Big Bad World. “Post traumatic stress on this level has never before been seen in Ireland” a spokesman for the station reported, “we are most anxious to ease their transition back to the world they know best here in Dublin 4.”

It has been reported that both boys have been seen in recent days wandering the corridors of the station mumbling about “not being listened to” and “no-one knowing who they are” and clearly in a very troubled state. But help is at hand. Duncan Stewart will play a vital role in the debriefing. “Whether it was The White House or Leinster House, I can help the guys identify what the problems are and how best to get over them,” the About The House presenter said. Yummy Mummy Miriam is said to be ready with her special recipe chicken soup which she will serve in two specially commissioned new RTE mugs, George and Charlie. “This will help them to remember just who they are and how valued and important they are,” she purred. And of course they will be encouraged to ‘talk to Joe’. Master Counsellor Joe will no doubt, have invaluable advice for them both. “Jaysus, there’s a lesson for us all. It’s a dangerous world out there beyond Montrose,” he said sagely.

It is thought that the first assignment to be given to the two lads will be a stint demonstrating the toys on this year’s Toy Show. “We will be picking toys specially that shouldn’t trigger any flashbacks that could prove fatal for the boys. I hope that they will enjoy working with other boys their own age” golden boy Tubridy said.

So there you have it folks. Finally RTE has produced intrepid, war correspondents who are willing to brave the outside world for months at a time. A heroes welcome awaits our two brave reporters as they return from the wars of real life and are rehabilitated back into the cosy womb like ambiance of our national broadcasters HQ in Dublin 4. The only place it seems where they are known and respected and loved! Doesn’t that give you a proud to be Irish feeling!

WELCOME TO MY KITCHEN TABLE

Pull up a chair, coffee is brewing, make yourself at home. You are very welcome!

Regular readers and followers will know that this is my new blogging home. Seeking Serenity is no more. So does this mean I have found what I was looking for, Serenity, here at the Kitchen Table? Probably not. But this new blog marks my intention to make my writing more of a priority in my life and to be comfortable with the fact that yes, I do write at the Kitchen Table.

So I do hope my Serenity followers will follow on here. I hope you will check in often and keep leaving the great comments which I enjoy reading so much! Again regulars will be familiar with some of my January posts which I have imported over, in order to give new readers a flavour of what may go on at my Kitchen Table.

Finally I want to take this opportunity to thank my eldest cat, matriarch of the animal kingdom in our house, Tiger. She watched me as I tried to set up the shot that I wanted for my blog header. She knew, just as I did, that something was missing from The Kitchen Table. And so she elegantly climbed up and struck a pose, nonchalantly looking out the window. What a cat! Thank you Tiger – “now get off the Kitchen Table, that’s not allowed and not hygienic.”

My Husbands Love Affair

“It looks like Saab could be gone” himself proclaimed recently, in a tone one would normally associate with the announcement of the death of a close family member. “Oh” I said, smiling a huge beamy smile inside. I am not at all upset to hear of the possible demise of the Swedish car company. Like Princess Di all those year ago, I can also say “there are 3 of us in this marriage” and like Di “it’s a bit crowded.” But instead of the horsey looking matron she had to worry about, my ‘other woman’ is a Saab convertible.

The only time I ever threw a vase at him was when he casually announced the purchase of the first convertible. Let me make it clear at this point, that both he and I have our own vehicles. He needs a jeep for his work. This extra car, we didn’t need and back then, we definitely could not afford it either. I tried to throw him out – he wouldn’t go. But I was so angry that he didn’t dare to bring his new purchase home for almost a year. He kept her, like a loyal mistress in a rented lock-up and visited her furtively, on his way home from work every so often. My anger eventually burnt out and we moved to a house with a garage and so she was formally introduced to the rest of the family. I should also say that this first convertible was not actually a Saab. Oh no, this was some kind of kit car that someone else had put together. It had only 2 tiny seats and travelled about 2 inches above the road.

One night he asked me if he could take me up the mountains to see the full moon and stars. Under the cover of darkness we wedged ourselves into this ridiculous car and off we went. The moon and stars were lovely alright but we looked like two elephants in a matchbox as we breezed south on the N11.

Bless him, he spent an entire winter rebuilding the dashboard. Finally after many long, freezing nights in the garage he proudly announced that his work was finished. She had a lovely shiny metallic dashboard. Great. “I’m just going to take her out now for a bit of a run” he announced, “see you in an hour.” Off he went. But about fifteen minutes later I heard him coming in for a landing on the drive. “What happened” I asked nervously looking for signs of damage. “I indicated at the junction and all the electrics blew”. Changing a light bulb is really the extent of his gift with electrics - or any DIY for that matter. And so like all mistresses, old Chitty Chitty Bang Bang was outliving her mystique. He decided to put her up for sale and so began his indulgence in Saabs.

Our Saabs are always a few years old and come from the UK. So each purchase has involved a one way Ryanair ticket to some regional British airport and ferry crossing home. These trips are planned with the same passion and energy of many adoptive parents on their way to Vietnam or China. Paperwork has to be sorted and VRT payments organised. And finally he arrives proudly driving his new baby down the road. This palaver has happened so often now that the only member of the family to display any excitement is the dog. And he gets excited any time anyone comes home!

Our garage has long since been converted and so the Saab lives on the driveway where it only gets very occasional use. Instead we grow a lovely kind of vibrant green moss on the soft top which also provides a cosy, warm, hammock-like bed for the cat on sunny mornings.

I think we were on Saab No 3 when he lost it altogether and decided that I would like one of my own. And so on our 10th Wedding Anniversary I was presented with the key to my very own Saab. Great! We now had 2 spare cars, one of which had to be parked around the corner as the driveway and road outside the house was full. After allowing him to bask in the glory of his huge generosity for a few months I finally got him to realise that having to pay two insurances and two road taxes for garden ornaments was madness. We sold both and yep – he bought another one.

About 3 or 4 times a year, usually on a sunny Sunday he gives his beloved Saab a good seeing to! She gets washed by hand, paying attention to all her nooks and crannys. He completes this ritual with a massage of polish. Afterwards they both sit and bask in the shine!

His devotion to Saab is total and unconditional. A couple of years ago, I thought we could all do with a sunshine break and found us a good deal for a week in the Canaries. He declined to join us saying he was too busy. Off we went and while we were away he managed to free enough time to pay to visit to Sweden to visit the Saab museum. I kid you not!

And the most amazing thing of all? We are still married, cos unlike the tragic Diana – I won’t let the bitch win!