Grannies, dogs and Princesses

So I did a class at the gym called Bodyvive, a combination of resistance and dance and yoga. During the dancy bit we needed to have a partner. Now, do you know who goes to the gym at 9:30am? Fat housewifes and retirees, needless to say, I fitted right in. Anyway, I ended up partnering a woman who was, without any exaggeration, about 70 years old. I was thinking "great, I'm doing aerobics with somebodies nanna". The problem was, this nanna could salsa - I can't. She salsad all over me. I was humiliated. Later in the class we were waving balls around (remembering this is a chicks only gym) and my ball slipped out of my hands and hit salsa nanna on the head. Fortunately she laughed and exclaimed "lucky it wasn't a cricket ball!". Latent hostility on my part? I hope not. I can cope with a lot of things, but the knowledge I may subconsciously be a nanna basher is too much.

When I went to get my girl from kinder I took the dog (english staffy) with me for a walk. The teacher saw me from the door and called out to the girl (who was still inside) ".. your dog's here". The girl looked up, exclaimed "that's not my dog, that's my mum." Bless her. She had also drawn a picture of herself next to what appears to be a building with a "VB" sign on the roof. She reassured me that it was, in fact, a "TV" and she wasn't trying to covertly inform the authorities that her mother is an alcoholic.

I then spent 2 hours this afternoon devising an elaborate speadsheet to track the ex's child support payments and what money has/should change hands. I also have another spreadsheet documenting the mileage I have been getting on my car. Missing work? Nah....

So far I have knitted the right leg and foot of a princess.