Sore loser

Just threw a stupid strop over Trivial Pursuit (which I lost, again, though not in as humiliating a way as normal) 'cos boyfried wouldn't budge an inch (as per bloody usual) on a sports question for a pie I got very very very nearly right and instead he played as if he were Jezza Paxman doing the finals of University Challenge. We were both on 5 bits of pie each so he was obviously panicking that I might, just once in my life, beat him at Triv. And to be fair I was all excited 'cos I thought that maybe, for once in my life, and especially after a really shitty day, I might actually win a game.

So when he didn't give me that last bit of pie I got all girly-moody and lost interest in the game and in my mind was all 'lets play to the bloody rules then'. When I did get a few questions wrong after that he'd add some comment to the answer (such a common habit of his I have found it worthy of mention in his biog) which normally is endearing and impressive but when I am tired and moody and losing I think he just wants to show off what an irritatingly clever dick he is, and to make me feel very very very stupid indeed, which is exactly the opposite of what I need when I'm trying to get the last pie and it's a bloody sports question, and i've got my period and i've had a rough day.

I got stroppier, so when I next landed on the orange pie square he tried to give me a clue to the Ian Rush question, but I had already given up on that 'cos I obviously had no bloody chance in hell of ever guessing, then next time around he tried to actually give me the pie when I said "Olga whatsherface" but completely couldn't remember her surname, and wasn't actually sure I ever knew it was Corbett in the first place, and all that trying to help me made me even more irritated because I'd rather he just bent a little earlier when I was very very very nearly right, than when I was obviously wrong or didn't have a clue, and I might just have won a bloody game of Triv for once in my life, or at least, won a bit of orange pie.

My evening hadn't exactly started brilliantly either, as i was tired and crabby because Jazzie's been a real handful today, opting to cry most of the afternoon (she is still a snot-faced monkey and teething quite a lot and is generally fed up with it all poor thing) and that made me really fed up because she was just inconsolable.

It's not all bad news. After I stopped watching last night, Arsenal equalised the match - so the miracle I was hoping for happened. Dp told me that fans were taunting Tottenham by singing "Two-nil, and you fucked it up" over and over, which made me giggle.

Baby yoga (not really baby yoga, 'cos its for the mums, only we get to take our babies with us) was quite good today, and we did some new stretches, only I felt like a complete fat, stiff lump because i could barely move into them and everyone else looked thin and supple and supple and thin and thin and thin and moved into them quite comfortably. It was also boiling hot in the room and everyone was in t-shirts but I wouldn't take my cardie off (and it was cashmere = super hot) because all I had on underneath was a stretchy white vest top with nowhere to hide my biscuit barrel belly.

Jazzie's sleeping like the proverbial right now. With luck she'll go right through. Last night she did a fab effort, and after a wee yelping fit sometime before midnight (can't remember when) she slept till 06.30.