STOLEN BY BITACLE Root Shoot Marry #10 - Because we're goin' to the cha-pel ...

If you are reading this on Bitacle you are reading STOLEN CONTENT from my blog.

... and we're, gonna get ma-a-ahried.

Ah yes, Root, Shoot, Marry number 10 and why do I have wedding bells in mind?

Well here in Australia it is Spring, the season of nuptials and all such frolic. Unless you happen to suffer hayfever, in which case I imagine Spring is the season of snot. Fortunately, the Ladies Lounge is free of any variety of snot today and, indeed, verging on rude and ruddy health so Spring is placing far more frivolous thoughts in my mind.

And what could be more frivolous than a celebrity wedding?

I mean, come on! Haven't celeb marriages become something like Formula One car racing? Incredibly expensive, terribly exotic, hugely wasteful, largely attention-seeking and almost inevitably destined for a fiery, bloody crash.

So tonight we play to love, honour and obey with three recent celebrity weddings, two of them already well publicised crash-and-burns, and one that, well, is still spinning around the track.

And the advantage of this week's theme? When it comes to the 'marry' choice you'll already know what your dress, or tux, will look like!

The rules are here, or you can use the link on my snazzy new horizontal nav bar up above this post.

Female Number One - Renee Zellweger
Male Number One - Kenny Chesney






















Annulled after four months. Zellweger cites 'fraud' as the cause. Could size really matter?


Female number two: Jennifer Aniston
Male number two: Brad Pitt
























Divorced after five years. Destroyed by the Brangelina Affair or did Jen wreck her own bliss by - gasp - REFUSING TO HAVE BRAD'S BABIES?????


Female Number Three - Nicole Kidman (known to all Downunder as "Our Nic")
Male Number Three - Keith Urban (known to all Downunder as "Keith Who?")
















Married in Sydney, June 2006. Recent news stories have Keith confessing the wedding was almost called off. They managed to survive that hiccup, but will they ever get past the constant public inspection of Our Nic's tummy for a baby bump?

Poor Our Nic, my suggestion, just quietly, is that she arrange to be seen in a very public pharmacy, preferably one with lots of CCTV cameras, ostentatiously asking for and purchasing Hormone Replacement Therapy pills.

So go forth and frolic among the pretty and the fatuous; root 'em, shoot 'em, marry 'em to hell an' back. And play nice with Our Nic. Remember, so far she's the only woman on earth smart enough to divorce Tom Cruise.

mtc
Bec

STOLEN BY BITACLE First Guide Camp

First Guide Camp
Originally uploaded by ladieslounge.

For the record, the Pea Princess had her first real Girl Guide camp recently.

There was much to be organised.

Long lists, with a very sensible check box to show that each item marked as packed to go was also marked as packed to take home.

We were puzzled by the shower cap requirement. Can you even buy shower caps any more?

The PP was greatly excited. Until it came to this moment, of heading to the car with Dad and driving off into the night to camp.

"I'm a bit scared," says she.

"Don't be," says me.

"It will be great fun," says me.

Silent nod and lip biting, from she.

I managed to control my own bottom lip until she was in the car and couldn't see me.

The camp, as you probably guessed, was a huge success. There was a bonfire and treasure hunts and somehow, amid all the Anglican starchiness of Girl Guides, the leaders wove a 'Disney Princess' theme that was just right for these 7-12 year olds.

Lookee there at my baby: she travels!

mtc
Bec

STOLEN BY BITACLE What do you think?

STOLEN BY BITACLE

I must be feeling better - I went virtual shopping and bought (free!) a virtual new blog dress from Zoot Designs. Now I'm a bit nervous about how different it looks and whether I have overstepped my very rudimentary blog template tweaking skills.

Do you like it? I'm still tweaking and suggestions are welcome.

And thanks for all your kind thoughts about the Gorgeous Boy's Scarlet Fever and my own vile disease.

I'll be back at work tomorrow.

Because. You know what's worse than being away from work and having everything fall apart without you?

Being away from work and having everything NOT fall apart without you thanks to younger and prettier assistant.

I need to get back there to point out how badly she's done everything in my absence.

KIDDING!!

I need to get back there to express my undying gratitude in person and shower rose petals at her feet.

Then, and only then, will I pick apart everything she thinks she's achieved and undermine her efforts with senior management...

mtc
Bec

STOLEN BY BITACLE Scarlet Fever

STOLEN BY BITACLE

Amazing to me to realise Scarlet Fever was still around. I thought the doctor was joking. But doctors never joke around small boys on IV fluids, so I should have realised straight away she was serious.





So we spent the rest of the weekend in hospital, where the Gorgeous Boy - once diagnosed - was put onto penicillin toot-sweet. If only it had been around for all those other little children who needed the wonder drug, like dear little Beth March. And, um, many real people who didn't make me weep in childhood.

Scarlet Fever, it turns out, is a form of strep throat in colour. Only some people are susceptible to the special toxins that cause strep throat to turn into Scarlet Fever. It may have been this which led my boy's chart to be marked "TOXIC", or it may have been the number of times he vomited over beds, shoes (his own, mine, the doctor's), clothing (lost count) and sterile instruments.

Poor boy. It took them a while to work out what was wrong and he had to have a lumbar puncture to ensure it wasn't bacterial meningitis and suffer many other indignities like his mother diving between his legs to catch wee in a bottle. All very confusing, uncomfortable and undoubtedly pointless to his just-a-kid-brain.

In case you were wondering, Scarlet Fever really does make you turn red. All of you. The hospital now has a photographic record of the Gorgeous Boy's 'strawberry tongue' and a whole parade of doctors, nurses and med students trooped through his room for a look at something hitherto seen only in their text books.

On the upside he got to eat jelly for breakfast, play Nintendo in bed on the special space bubble in the kids' ward, sleep in a special room with Mummy on a bed next to him, and stick his tongue out at a lot of important people.

On the downside, medicine, needles, much dismay, and, as a result of sucking in shared coughs for 72 hours, Mummy is now sick in bed at home with - you guessed it - strep throat.

No strawberry tongue for me yet, and a good thing too because the same penicillin that saved the Gorgeous Boy would kill oh-so-allergic me, so fingers-crossed and thanks for all the well-wishing for my little superhero.

And did you notice in the comments on RSM #9 that a british version appears to be called 'bed, wed, dead'? How very polite. I think we must know more about Mad Muthas before this week is done.

And finally, finally, as I head back to hazy-drug sleep I do so with a tummy full of the blissfully wonderful My Float's bolognese sauce. A friend, indeed. And we haven't yet tucked into My Float's mother's fantastic spinach pie - but since I've tried it on other occasions and know it to be the best spinach/ricotta pie south of Athens, I'm saving it a day or so until my tastebuds stop being white!

mtc
Bec