Designer.....? So behind her

Phew. What a week. And deffo not a good one. I haven't been able to sit down for seven days and although things are improving there are still remnants of frostbite, but it is almost behind me (oh but it were - behind me rather than in front of me, if you see what i mean). I have spent much of the week with a mirror in places you really shouldn't be putting mirrors. It was not so much 'Mirror mirror on the wall who is the fairest of them all?', as 'Mirror mirror, have they gone?'. But yes. Four of the infection sites I'm pleased to say are now clear which leaves one little blighter left but almost gone. Half way through the week I was desperate, pacing the floor.

"Nothing else for it", I confided to a friend on the 'phone. "I'm going to have to have the frostbite taken away".

"Well don't stress about that one", she said, "Designer vaginas are all the rage right now - quite the thing in fact. Quite overtaken silicone implants as it happens".

Now she wasn't exactly a friend, more of a 'we speak once a year acquaintance' actually. Because if she was a friend she would know that this was so not me. Umph. Cosmetic surgery may be a part of my future, but I hadn't planned to make that decision until everything went so far south it was no longer in my line of vision. This part of my anatomy though had never been up for debate. No. I would soldier on regardless and hope for the best. Pollyanna has nothing on me I thought, as I happily 'looked on the bright side'.

But then I got the e-mail from Ann Summers and that's what really annoyed me and made me feel less than satisfied about my lack of proper progress. 'National Orgasm Week' it screamed out and went on to list all the fascinating articles on sale this week to make each and every one of our orgasms particularly enjoyable.

Did they know? I huffed. Was this a wind up? Who could have told them? Because I certainly hadn't. And how the heck had I suddenly joined their mailing list?

The one time that I so don't want to even think about sex, or intimacy, or anything getting any closer to me than my favourite comfy pants (no, not even my party pants), they send me a message about some rampant rabbit and tell me I must (really must) celebrate national orgasm week. Well I'm sorry but I really have taken umbridge at that one. I'm not playing. I'm definitely not playing. But have a good week everyone and I hope you can do your bit for Ann regardless. I've nominated myself to the sidelines feeling more than a little put out.