Folks, according to my astrological forecast I’m an Aries. That means 2011 is going to be an outstandingly glorious year.
In Chinese astrology. it’s the Year of the Rabbit and I’m a bit of a fluffy bobtail, dear.
I’m a numerologist, so I know that on my birthday in April, I go into a year eight, a year with the potential of achieving hopes, wishes and dreams.
Then why was I yelling at the universe this week to back off and give me a break?
They say be careful what you wish for. Well, I got my ‘break’.
On top of my ‘joys of growing old’ list of ailments, I’ve broken my toe, plus the third microwave in seven years.
So I hobbled off to get a new microwave, not a budget-priced one this time but a shiny, black brand name one.
It wasn’t until I dragged it up four flights of stairs (there’s no lift where I live) and unpacked it that I realised the door was mirror-finished and a nightmare for fingerprints. Grrrrr.
So, I know you’re wondering, how did I break my toe?
Well, I was leaping around my bijou bedsit and bog, dancing and singing to a bit of Shakira when I tripped up (no maribou-trimmed mules on, you see) and crashed straight into the coffee table.
My poor little toes went either side of one of the table legs and one got busted. Agony, I can tell you.
I’ve had to rest my foot most days, so I’ve been catching up on a pile of newspapers.
They included all the coverage of Andy Gray and Richard Keys and the Sky Sports sexism affair.
I got to wondering if that will act as a warning to other misogynistic men, who keep their minds zipped in their trousers and don’t connect their brains before they operate their sexist gobs.
No, I don’t think it will. I do love you fellas, but some men are just Neanderthal numbnuts.
They think it makes them look big to put down a woman. Well, ladies, you need a black belt in ‘tongue-fu’ and verbally kick back.
Measure the size of your critic – they’re usually very small.