Bloody twitter

'What are you doing? Are you twittering?' This is what I hear any time I pick up my phone. Not just from the Other Half but my mam, my friends, all determined not to really understand it.

Events recently have made me question my relationship Twitter. Some of you reading this will know I was investigated for misuse of Twitter at work. I ended up being off with stress for two weeks and the threat of losing my job loomed large. I didn't lose my job, I received a formal warning which stays on my record for one year so alls well that ends well. Or is it? I don't trust anyone at work now. The investigation was carried out because of an anonymous tip off and despite my theories I'll never know who it is. But, I have digressed massively, I wasn't even going to mention work, it was merely an example of how seemingly innocuous tweets can get you in to trouble.

Here is the main gist if my post. The other half hates twitter. Despite the friends I've made, the support I receive and the mine of endless cat pictures, he hates it. He feels it robs him of me. So the thing is, I would of lost my job for twitter and still defended it but can I lose a marriage? Would I end up all alone tweeting to you all and then quietly go to an empty bed or do I draw a line and say okay, your right I'll put my phone down for a bit and see what happens.

This is not a goodbye just a I won't be round much.



I'll still Snapchat, WatsApp and Message Me obviously.

Fun bags

So, here's the thing (oh blogger mobile ap you are sooo much better than blogger on the laptop) I have never liked my boobs, they lack a certain something.... let me think.... size, that's it, size. My 34B's have never really cut the mustard with me.

When I was pregnant 11 years ago they swelled to a massive 34C which deflated as soon as the boy was born. But, on the plus side I was only 26, young and perky and nothing sagged.

My lovely husband when we first met, would tell me that my boobs were of a good shape and I had nothing to worry about. Then along came Fatts - a beautiful bundle of joy obviously but also the cause of sagging and shrinking to a 34A. This has made me quite fed up. I could more or less cope with B's but now I look like a boy - scrawny and no female definition. I should be all Caitlin Moran about it and be joyous with my lot (and grow a 1970's bush while I'm at it) but I'm not. I rarely let my husband touch me and I'm embarrassed when he does. I look in the mirror at them and it makes me sad.*

So, this is how finances work in our marriage. I pay all the monthly bills and rent, and the other half pays for car stuff, credit cards and saves for us. He said to me one day 'we could get you a boob job.' Just like that. Then he bashed on about how he'd done some facts and figures and if he could save the deposit we could totally do it.

That was a year ago. Today I meet with the consultant. hopefully he'll tell me he can make me a D and book me in for February. THEN I'LL HAVE NEW BOOBS.

So I'm writing this before we set off to Carlisle to meet the consultant. My hands are a bit shaky and my eyeliner wonky because I'm nervous and excited. Wish me luck.

*yes I know I'm being very shallow and I should be grateful I've got my health and there are a million better things the money could be spent on.

Also, no one really knows about this, not my family or many friends so shhhh, mums the word.