transretrogurl

So, dear reader, when i left you I was swimming in a sea of femm-fantasticness. Cuddled up in a comfy black satin nightie, slowly typing my thoughts because of the glorious nails on my fingers while I was already planning the second session.

Pictured – happiness in a floral frock

And then I fell asleep.

I dreamt I was riding a Virgin train, either home, or into London, and as it went around a corner the coach I was in detached. Of course, everyone on board panicked, but the carriage slowed to a gentle halt and I watched the rest of the train pull away. The carriage was then hit by an express coming the other way and I jolted awake, 6:00am, my nightie having ridden up in the night. My phone was ringing and picking it up I saw it was my other half.

My heart sank.

She was distraught. One of our kittens (we have six cats) had escaped the day before and as he is a house cat and hadn’t come back, she was panicking. She told me not to interrupt my session but she thought I had the right to know he was missing.

Pictured – drink up darling, it’s going to go pear-shaped so fast your pretty head will spin

F*ck. I love my cats to bits and the idea the little lad was out and about, probably terrified as he spooks seriously easy, immediately filled me with worry and shock. So I thought about what I should do – my other half was doing all the right things, whipping up some fliers as by now he’d been missing for eighteen hours, and if I bailed and went home I’d be less than helpful – well, not exactly true, I flourish in that kind of situation, I find it easy to focus and get things down in an unemotional way. And my other half had said to carry on with my stuff.

But I could hear something else in her voice that was a hint of panic, and I knew she was just saying that to make me feel better.

F*ck f*ck f*ckity f*ck f*ck.

So I decided, damn it, I needed to bail on the sessions. I had to be home to help find the little lad. So I carefully, and painfully, removed the lovely nails – helpful hint for all of us ladies, if you can prise one of the nails off (I use super glue to keep them on) it is very easy to use that nail to get the others off. You simply work the nail along side the attached one and move it under, and the shape of the nail lifts the stuck one off. Took me a couple of minutes to get them all off, and then I texted Cindy telling her that I was going to have to bail. She’d left her make-up kit at the apartment, so she came over anyway to pick it up.

Pictured – sigh….

By the time she had arrived I’d re-packed all the tonne of stuff I had brought for the three days of sessions. I’d managed a paltry three hours of Sarah time, plus some fun messing about in the apartment after, and I was exhausted and felt very let down by the whole situation.

I summoned a taxi, which took me, panicking a little bit by now and convinced the little bud was dead and gone, to a packed Euston. Mid-afternoon on a Friday is a horrible time to hop a train, and I stood there, shaven but not femmed, with a heavy backpack on my back, worried senseless about my little cat, and waited for the next express to Birmingham Intl.

I got on the train, at the cost of seventy odd quid, and while heading for Birmingham phoned the other half. Still no sign – there had been a sighting of the little boy last night at 9:00 across a busy road, which filled me with dread. He gets spooked very, very easily and the fact he had crossed a road where a number of cats have died was a death knell for me to hear.

Train took seventy-three minutes to reach Birmingham. I hurried to my car, my back seriously hurting now from lugging around the unused ten or so outfits and all the lovely femm stuff I had been playing with, albeit for such a short time, the night before. Paid my car park ticket, an unpleasant twenty-four quid worth, and jumped in the car.

Sped down the M42 and the heavens opened. Thunder, lightning, zero visibility. I was now sure that my three hours of femm fun had angered the Gods in some way, as I was now convinced I was going to end up smashed under the bumper of a truck in the spray, the ominous dream from the night before at the front of my mind.

Pictured – middle-aged man, pretty housewife, inherent bloody cat lover

My phone rang, and it was attached to my stereo, so I tapped the button to receive the call. My other half. But the Bluetooth connection wasn’t working, and I couldn’t hear her over the storm. She rang again, thirty seconds later, again couldn’t hear her. By this time I was forty of the sixty miles home and near a service station, so I pulled off to check my messages.

He’d come home.

I immediately felt relief, and then?

F*ck, f*ck, f*ck, F*CK, F*CKITYF*CKF*CKF*CKITYF*CK.

Pretty much covered it. So I bought myself a highly unhealthy KFC meal and a Starbucks cold brew, and drove the final twenty miles home in a mixture of elation at the fact the little bud was back home and fine, and sadness that my Sarah time, which I really need, had been so cruelly and pointlessly cut short.

Got home, other half was as apologetic as she gets when she knows she’s done something that has screwed up my enjoyment. We have that kind of passive-aggressive relationship. 16:00 by now, if I’d been in London I’d be four hours into the planned six hour session with Cindy. Combining the sleep from the night when I rushed back home before coming up for the session and the four hours from last night I’d slept a good five hours in the last seventy-two. Chuck in the shock, worry and the rush of driving back and I’m exhausted.

But no, I’m not going to let fate fart in my face without a single complaint. Sod it. Fired up the Train Line app, checked the trains – the session I was going to have in London tomorrow was going to be 10:00am until around seven, followed by taking retro 1940s Sarah out for a test drive at a night club.

I’m shattered. I’m stressed. I’m tired like I’ve never been tired before. And f*ck it, I’m on the 8:20am train back into London tomorrow because YOU ONLY LIVE ONCE. When life chucks you a lemon ignore it and drink Champagne.

Because that’s the kind of insane girl I am……

But now? To bed to see if I can shave off some of the tiredness. Going to be a long day tomorrow and there are so many frocks to wear, so much tottering on heels to be tottered.

Game on……

Stay saner than me, you beautiful people……

Pictured – you shall go to night-club/ball dearest Sarah, if it kills both of us….