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What Women Want - With Abby Crawford

Do not fear how love can hurt you
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What women want - February 2016

04 Feb 2016

So, happy new year, and all that …

I have to say, I thought I’d be in my typical new year form, positively oozing shiny optimism of all the new year would bring – a fresh start, a clean slate, etc.

I have, previously, launched into January like a naive, braces-wearing, pig-tailed, straight-A student walking up the stairs into high-school on their first day thinking “what could possibly go wrong”. But not this year.
This year I saw it coming.

You’d be excused for wondering if I’d slipped into the role of cynic by now, but I truly haven’t – for you see, I’m still laughing at my misfortunes, at the comedy life sees fit to throw my way. I haven’t given up, as much as just woken up to expect more curve balls to come bounding down the lane of my life ...

And it’s just as well.

Because 2016 has been a series of  “comedies” already. Truly! It’s not that disasters have happened. It’s just that there have already been quite a few days where I think “you’ve got to be kidding me”…

For example, the day I’d been on the road for five hours through sheet rain and flash flooding returning home from a two-day event, only to find the streets to my warehouse closed due to flooding. I mean knee high water surrounding the building. So, having waded through to hang up rugs and turn off computers and the like, I made my way home to store my stock (450 candles stored in 17 white cardboard wine boxes – my car is tiny!) until I could dry out the warehouse.

Walking in my front door, relieved after eight hours on the go, I realised I had no lights at home. I immediately thought it was a black out or a blown fuse – so I flicked the switch back on.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE the smoke detectors went crazy! I tried in vain to push the tiny button on the detector with a broom stick, waving around on my tippy toes at the 12ft ceilings.

Nothing is working. The alarms are going crazy, so I do what any independent, intelligent woman would do – I call my Dad.  

He suggested calling the fire brigade, but I felt this was a touch excessive. Anyway, practical Dad had called whilst I was struggling to work out what to do, and next thing I hear sirens. YES SIRENS! They pull up. I try to wave casually/attractively – in wet clothes.

Surrounded by 17 wine boxes which I’ve brought inside whilst trying to ignore the situation around me. Then I regret having brought 17 wine boxes inside as it occurs to me it’s difficult to find the right time to explain they don’t hold wine, but hold candles.

Flameless candles - because my house burnt down four years ago. The fire brigade are here for the second time since I bought the house. I wonder if they offer a VIP program?

The older, grey-haired firey takes one look at the smoke detector and asks, rather scathingly to be honest, when I last changed the battery. I can’t recall, but try to look like a responsible home-owner who does these things.

Truth is I couldn’t reach the bloody thing so I think perhaps it’s never been done. I take the best option and nod convincingly that I’m pretty sure it might have happened at some time.

He simply says: “Boys we have a flat battery situation”. And explains because the power has been flicked, it has triggered the back up and the battery not working yap, yap, yap, yap. He looks cross. They get a ladder to change the battery. I feel pretty small.

But then I remember Dad asking me to look at the down lights around the detectors for anything unusual. So I pipe up: “One of the down lights looks funny”. I wait as this hangs in the air, not really sure of what I’ve said.

He tells me if it’s white and powdery that it just means the bulb needs changing - you know, like I don’t do the practical things around the house. I said no, it’s kind of brown …. Ooooooohhhhh that’s a good reaction! Woohoo things are changing around here, and QUICKLY!

The younger (and considerably hotter) firey springs into action. “Where?” they ask. I show them. They shine a torch and yell STOP.

I hadn’t really moved, so I don’t think it was to me. They make sure the power is off and then look at the “dead” fire alarm on the ceiling. It’s not a dead battery, it’s full of water. The roof is full of water and the electrics are swimming in it. “Lucky you called us,” they said. “Good thing you checked,” they said. “You could have been electrocuted.” Raised eyebrows. Suddenly everyone is very nice to me. Very nice indeed. They even compliment a picture on the wall. They go up in the roof. They come down and say: “It’s not good I’m afraid”.

So I need a builder and I need an electrician and I need to leave the power off. They leave, waving good-bye from the truck. I decide the very best thing to do is to head back to my Dad’s who has very sensibly chilled a bottle of wine for me.

And that’s how the year has started. Sometimes a woman has grand plans and goals for all that life should be delivering, but sometimes a woman has to be able to let it all go, have a good giggle and simply say: “Well what a day that was” … and move on.

I hope your 2016 brings you all you wished for, and all you strive for – personally, I’m just focusing on batting those curve balls out of the park.

With love,
Abby

PS don’t forget you can email me at (JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)

Or join me on Facebook Abby Jane Crawford or Instagram @abbyjanecrawford

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