The Morale of This Story Is…

The moral of this story, just to make it clear right from the start to anybody who thinks I didn’t do that on purpose, is that I cannot resist a pun. Ever. Ask anybody who’s ever talked/Tweeted/emailed me and they’ll tell you. It’s tragic but true. There should be a 12-step group for this (There probably is. And I bet it’s got a funny name).

Aaanyway… today’s contribution: talking about morale. Oomph. Mojo. Get-up-and-go. Yesterday, for some mysterious reason, mine got up and went. It was a day when everything I attempted got overrun by something else (and hello once more, Accident and Emergency, mon cher amour), and nothing I needed to do seemed to get done. I struggled through the day feeling as if I’d left my brain under a cushion somewhere. Everything was effort. Everything was slow. Even the supposedly-super-zippy internet kept dropping the connection. I knew how it felt. My servers were not responding to DNS lookup. I needed to reload and try again. Or perhaps I should try turning off my router and turning it on again.

Like everything else, the gym got delayed, reshuffled, and eventually abandoned yesterday. This made me despondent as I’d vowed never to allow that to happen, and I pulled my trainer socks up and decided I was going, no matter that it was 8pm. But yet another child emergency popped up just as I was about to get changed into my trackies. By the time I’d retrieved a distressed teen from Tesco, fed it industrial-strength painkillers, wheeled it round in the Tesco wheelchair and then made it home again, my energy needle was jammed against ’empty’. *Sigh*.

So this morning – reload! Stuff yesterday. If I look back clearly, I did several things that needed doing. Today is going to be better. Hell, it’s already better because I’ve written and sent several important emails, made needful phone calls, fed children and pets, and removed last week’s knackered nail varnish.

Nail varnish is crucial to this post. It’s my fallback morale-booster. The habit started when I began producing babies. Believe me, when you go into hospital to give birth, you may as well check your dignity at the door, because it’s the first casualty once all the grunting and swearing starts. I read somewhere that painting your toenails could make you feel better about having half a dozen medical professionals gazing entranced up your jacksie, so I dutifully painted them before my due date. Weirdly, it worked. Then and now, painted toenails just make me feel more dressed somehow.

The laissez-faire attitude I exhibited in the delivery room may well have had more to do with clutching the gas-and-air mask for several hours, but what the heck. Joint honours.

So today, a new colour, and a departure in style – I’m going camouflaged!

Blame Rimmel, they brought out a khaki-green varnish called ‘Camouflage Chic’ that I spotted last night and bought on the spot, inspired, then decided to team it with something called ‘Misty Jade’. Not entirely sure where this combo would render my nails invisible – a bathroom tile showroom, maybe – but hey. I may go wild and add some brown later.


The nail varnish has done its job: I feel ready to take on anything. Strange, but true.