WWYD

Love Chunks celebrated his birthday last Friday and on that very same day lost his wedding ring and gained five stitches in his forehead.

Coincidence? Add a comment (or email me, all you lurkers who are scared of logging on) with your views....

When talking about what to get her 67 year old mother for her birthday, my mate Jill said, "A Black Pecker voucher" instead of the far-more safe, Black Pepper; a clothing store for the recently-retired who wish to wear t-shirts with sewn-in shoulder pads and roomy tracksuit trousers.

Wishful thinking?

I had my pen(s - always at least three in case I run out), notebook, camera and lipgloss in the backpack; hair stylishly blowdried and an assuredly professional outfit on. I'd done my research, looked the part and was ready to go. Until I spied a molehill-sized pyramid of dog vomit by the fridge door and a pungently sloppy pile of doggy diarrhoea by a dining chair.

Do I leave it for later, or clean it up now, hoping - but not actually checking - that my necklace doesn't accidentally graze the floor?

After roughly twenty years of saying, "They're crap, no-one really sees them, they just pretend to," I finally see what's hidden in a Magic Eye picture; one that's printed in a grainy Sunday newspaper comics section. My father then finds all of his Magic Eye BOOKS (count: seven) and we spend a Friday and Saturday night in matching Jason recliners holding books at arms length in front of our increasingly bloodshot eyes, unconsciously affecting stoner voices as we say stuff like, "Oh hey man, did you see the donut on fire in this one? Coooool..."

Can I use this as a dinner party anecdote or keep it to myself?

Bernadette is sick with an infected throat - the dreaded curse of a radio host - and I'm speaking to her replacement, Babs, to whom I'm introduced live on air. Her first question to me is, "So Kath, you farted out loud during a yoga class. Why don't you tell us all about it?"

What would a mature person, seeking to establish a respected and rewarding new career with more fulfilling lifestyle choices do?

Sapphire and I are sitting outside in the cold sunshine, cuddling Skipper the rabbit, drinking cups of green tea and nibbling squares of chocolate (Cadbury Bubbly, if you must know; the dark stuff is for after dinner). The phone rings, and I dash inside to answer it. The voice on the other end doesn't wait for that cautious "Hello...?" that most of us rely on, but launches straight into singing 'Happy Birthday', ending up with a grandiose 'Happy Birthday Dear Carol....Happy Birthday to yooooooou...."

Is laughing so hard that a drop of wee emerges before saying "Sorry mate, I'm not Carol" the wise option to avoid heaping shame and embarrassment upon the well-wisher?

Sapphire's had a bad day at school. Nothing earth shattering, but full of the annoyances and disappointments that can knock a kid down for a few hours. She grips my hand tight on the way home (a sign, these days, that she needs some maternal comforting) and her big, beautiful blue eyes fill up with tears as we unlock the front door to our house. She needs a hug, someone to listen to, a rabbit to pat and some fun. Before all that of course, is the urgent ablutions (like me, she's not keen on using the toilets at school). As she's washing her hands and it's my turn (we only have one toilet; it's in the bathroom, so all modesty is gone now), I want to say something to make her smile.

Surely, the classic "Don't you just hate it when you do a poo and water comes up to splash your butt cheeks?" is widely considered an appropriate opener?

Perhaps I shouldn't have acted so huffy yesterday when Sapphire said, "You're so much weirder than my friends' mums you know." After all, I was singing "Let's go to the shops" to the tune of 'At the Hop' by Danny and the Juniors.......