Jen: MILF my ass

Actually, make that MILF my arse, given my tendency towards pedantry. I know ass is more phonetically authentic, but really, must we bring donkeys into the fray? And one is not American, you know.

But to MILF, which – for the benefit of those whose lives are undoubtably richer for not having watched American Pie – refers to a Mom I’d like to F…., yes, that word.

Despite the crudeness of the language, I recognise that this term has some appeal. If I’d spent years dragging a batch of snotty kids up through childhood I too would like to feel I’d succeeded in doing so without turning myself into a beige-hued, slanket-wearing husk. Not that looks are everything, most definitely not, but y’know, people like to feel good about themselves and MILF status may well do that for you.

But for reasons of plain factual accuracy, it does not do it for me. I have, you see, no offspring. No kids. No babies, toddlers, tweenagers or ‘yoofs. To wit, I am not a mom.

20140406-004544.jpgSo you see, dear sweet little 22 year old boy, calling me ‘one hot MILF’ was perhaps not the best idea you’ve ever had in your short life. Believe it or not, we women don’t all get handed a baby ration at the age of 30. If it’s a Mrs Robinson experience you’re after, by all means, go for it little cub, you’re kinda cute, but perhaps leave the other kids out of it; they merely highlight the deficiencies of your age.

PS I don’t have any lullabies to hand for baby boy, but inspired by my most recent relationship disaster (yes, I’m still on about that) I decided to indulge myself in a little musical therapy recently. It’s got guitars, reverb, and me belting out stuff about betrayal. Cathartic. Check it out. If you want to.


Jen: Yay, yay, it’s V-Day!

I’ll be honest, I seriously considered calling this post ‘V-Day, rhymes with bidet’. Partly because the rhyme amused me but largely because, let’s face it,  for even the most stoic singles Valentine’s Day can be a bit of a douchy experience.

But as diligent readers will know, the Beau Dacious ladies are all fired up about love at the moment. Love in ALL its forms, not just romance. So if you’ve come here looking for an anti-Valentine’s Day whine-fest, best you move swiftly on because here, today, we’re making like Candi and Florence and belting out “we got the love”! Hell, we are the love!

Regular readers may recognise this spirit from last year when I got all dressed up in crimson-soaked love garb and marked the day by handing a Valentine’s card to a random stranger on the tube. I’ll admit I think I scared the poor chap just a little, but that one playful act of love – and the response it elicited from readers – set me on a high for the whole day. If ever I needed proof that it feels good to give, especially love, this was it.


Pucker up, I loves ya!

At the risk of sounding like a drug addict, I want that high again. So there’s just nothing for it; I’m going to have to step out today, once again, the very picture of love indistinguishable almost from Cupid himself. Except of course that Cupid’s a chubby baby boy and well, I’m not.  But that unsuspecting gent on the tube needn’t fear for the sanctity of his public transport invisibility cloak. Nope, he’s safe this year because 2014, my friends, is the year I choose to celebrate the love that is friendship. And all those people who do such an exquisite job of filling my heart 365 days a year, well, they are the ones who’ll be getting carded.

Of course, most newsagents have yet to get with the programme and so I took it upon myself to illustrate and design my own special friend-friendly Valentine’s Day cards. I doubt Hallmark will come knocking at my door any time soon but I had great fun putting them together and each one was sent out into the world in an envelope stuffed full of love. And you know what else? I didn’t have nearly enough to send to everyone who contributes in some way to pumping love into my life. Now if that’s not worth celebrating, I don’t know what is!

Happy love day, y’all!


PS Popping into the new Foyle’s store in Waterloo this week I couldn’t resist buying a copy of the best-selling book The Rules of Love, a list of the top 1oo Rules observed by people shown to have the most successful relationships – not just romances. For obvious reasons rule 8 – in the Rules for finding love section – struck a chord, and there are a lot of good practical reminders of what the application of love looks like in a variety of situations, but it’s perhaps the closing section Rules for everyone which ended with ‘Other people are where it’s at’ that really sums things up nicely. If you’re serious about love, you may find it worth a scan.

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