Dirty Dancing and Fruitcake Rubbish Day

Today is a special double bill rubbish day. It is the fault of my charming husband, 23Thorns, and his new-found obsession with watermelon. Watermelon is a good summer fruit and I enjoy a slice or two myself but 23 has gone watermelon wild. I am sent off on late afternoon watermelon shopping sprees as he honestly cannot be without one for more than a few hours. Breakfast. Lunch. Supper. He is just all about the watermelons, so today I am a watermelon.

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This watermelon frenzy of 23Thorns’ and my subsequent pink and green number have had the unfortunate side-effect of taking me back to the days of my youth. You see, I cannot say the word ‘watermelon’ without going all Dirty Dancing on you, because Baby carried a watermelon. She carried a watermelon! If you are either too young or too old to remember the wistful teenage longing all teenage girls felt who wanted to be Baby to Patrick Swayze’s Johnny, I’m afraid this next little bit is going to be a bit weird. More than usual. But I know that Baby wore denim shorts. I know that nobody put her in the corner. I know that she carried a watermelon. I know that Johnny taught her that lifty move in a dam. I know Dirty Dancing. Now too do the neighbours (with dirty dustbin standing in for Johnny).

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“I carried a watermelon”

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Now sing it with me…”Now I had the time of my li-i-ife”.

Happy Wednesday!

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‘Tutus and Traction’ Rubbish Day

A couple of weeks ago I collected my bespoke tutu from the supremely wonderful people at Arwen Garmentry. Every girl should have her own tutu. It should come as a great surprise to you that I’ve been able to wait so long to wear it for my rubbish guys. I was in training though, you see, because what I have learnt while preparing for my ballet day is that 36 don’t bend like 16. But today, today is the day! And a wonderful one it was. The neighbour’s 5 year-old daughter came out of her house to watch me pirouette. She watched me for almost a minute before going back into her house and locking the door.

Without further ado, I present Tracy harnessing the grace of a gazelle.

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This is the traction shot. It’s pinched the sciatic nerve, I’m sure of it!

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Warm ups done though, I really hit my stride.

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Happy Wednesday all. Dance more before 8a.m. It is good for the soul.

‘I might actually get serious as the tattooed lady’ Rubbish Day

So, last week in a particularly rambunctious mood, I dressed up as the bearded lady a la Victorian Circus.

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It was fabulous. I giggled all day. It has, however, created huge problems for me this morning, one week later. You see, I promised to continue with the circus theme and do ‘Tattooed Lady’ this week. This tattooed lady…

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Isn’t it a fabulous photograph? I adore Maud! I confess to absolutely loving the awkward posture and the socks and the shoes and the strange unnatural arm position and the crown. How could you fail to love that crown? So, I have a tattoo or two and as a sign from the lords of coincidence that it was now time for me to go full circus freak, my daughter just happened to have made a crown at school last week. It was right! It was the right thing to do, to go and stand next to my dustbin in my knickers! I said I would do it!

But that was last week. This morning I woke up and thought, “Hell no! The internet will not see me in a state of undress!” Because despite being nearly 40, having a delicious husband and 2 beautiful children, and frankly being a bit of a waif, I still have the bikini angst. The memory of the teenage thunder thigh trauma, the slimming pills, the mad sit-up regime, the wear-black-’cause-it’s-slimming-phase still looms fairly large apparently.

And I have pored over the photograph and I have have ummed and aahed over whether or not I can possibly use it. I have a ridiculous Isadora Duncan day from early spring that I never posted. I have back-up. I have decided though to just throw caution to the wind. I have a 4 year-old daughter, you see. She came home from school the other day having been told by a friend that she was a ‘fatty boom boom’. And that is not okay. She is quite perfect and should have no question in her mind that she is anything but.

Now, whether or not my personal exhibitionism will serve as an example for my daughter is debatable, but I’m going to do it anyway.Take that bikini angst! Take that teenage thunder thighs! Take that neighbourhood and paper recycling guy! I have a bikini and I’m not afraid to use it. I’m the tattooed lady. I am awkward and have bad posture and bobby socks.

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Phew…tough morning. Next week…straightjacket 🙂

‘Dude looks like a lady (or the other way around)’ Rubbish Day

My son found a beard the day before yesterday. It was in his old dress-up cupboard and we hadn’t seen it since he was captain Haddock for some school event. Or was it simply a quiet day at home? One forgets in our house. Anyhow, in light of this discovery P.T. Barnum and his Victorian Circus came to town this morning. One should never let a good beard go to waste, I always say.

Just in case you don’t work it out, I’m a bearded lady and just in case you don’t know much about the creepy Victorian circuses, you can have a read of an old blog of mine on the tracyloveshistory site.

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Please do note the gardener in the background. So normal is this strange Wednesday morning behaviour for him now, that all I warrant is a passing glance and then it’s back to work!

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Is this not an utterly marvelous beard?

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And, yes, that is the public behind me. The vehicle approached slowly and with caution. No sudden moves. You’d hate to see me startle!

Happy Wednesday all. We’re still going to be at the circus next week – I think it is a wonderful metaphor for my family life, the circus. So, next week…tattooed lady. Not just any tattooed lady, just this one in the crown. Isn’t she wonderful?

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