The Morning After the Night Before

Thank God I took today off as a holiday day, even though The Boss said he thought that that was self-indulgent and that the constituents needed me.

I said that, as the Con-Dem coalition was now running the country, I thought I could afford a day off, to which The Boss replied that all hands were needed on deck - at all times - for The Fightback. I'm just surprised he hasn't been approached by the new administration, given that he's voted with them so often in the past.

Anyway, at least I can lie around today doing a passable imitation of Max's mother, The Lounge Lizard. I am never drinking gin again.

Last night was as horrendous as predicted, and now Max is sulking because I didn't look surprised enough when I came home from work to find my birthday party in full swing. I refrain from pointing out that he had already told me about it, thus somewhat diminishing the element of surprise - but do mention that an astonished expression would be a lot easier to fake if I'd had Botox like annoying Ellen from next door.

Why the hell did Max have to invite her? Before I'd even downed my first gin, she'd already started swanning around announcing to all and sundry how much she loves sex, and how all she wants for her birthday is a man with a big you-know-what.

 Every man in the room immediately began to salivate at this bloody nonsense, presumably imagining his particular appendage as Ellen's saviour, while their wives became ever-more invisible and murderous. I have gone right off Ellen, and gin. Not to mention surprises.

When I realise that I've already forgotten my post-birthday no-smoking resolution, due to planning Ellen's murder (and possibly The Boss' too), I decide to pull myself together - so Connie and I go into town, where I take back all my birthday presents, as usual.

Maybe one year Max will buy me something I actually want, rather than whatever comes to hand in M&S on the day. I do keep Connie's present, though - Bridget Jones' Diary. It's bloody funny, but I really can't see what Bridget thinks married people have to be smug about.

On our way home, we go to the Topshop sale. I buy some clothes and feel quite cool and trendy - but then I get home and try everything on, only for Josh to look up from stalking everyone he knows on Facebook, and say,

"Mum - you do realise you didn't get any years back for your birthday?"

I smoke four cigarettes in a row, and turn all the mirrors to the wall. Max asks whether there's been a death in the house. I say, "Yes. My self-esteem," but he's already turned the TV on and isn't listening.