Deployment

“It’s complicated” -my relationship with time.

~ oliveoylnavywife ~ 8 Comments

I think I’m in an abusive relationship. Not with hubster Popeye, don’t worry, he’s a kitten, but with time. Let me explain this analogy, ahem: Time, it treats me badly again and again, reduces me to tears and g&t’s and yet I always go back to it when it promises me it will never treat me like that again and how much it wants to make me happy.

See? Time+navy+me=abusive relationship! Or at the very least some kind of unhealthy codependent relationship based on love/hate.

When you are doing a deployment countdown you view time as your mortal enemy, and I, at least, spend a large chunk of each day taking it down a peg or two mentally (hang on maybe I’m the abusive one…). I spend a RIDICULOUS amount of time thinking about time (ironic) and how months and weeks are really not all that long. In short, when Popeye is deployed I demean time, I shorten it and patronise it, I beat it into submission until its not too scary.

For example, two months sounds scary, eight weeks, not so much. Also to say he’s still away for two and half months is awful, but if I take time by the gonads and twist, two and a half months magically turns into ten weeks! Tah dah!

You can also do this not just with months and weeks, but also with days. *gets magic wand and magicians hat*. Firstly, this works best when you’re in the ten week countdown. It also works best when you are alone in the house, holding a giant bar of dairy milk, standing in front of your calendar. No one knows why this is, its just physics or something.

Basically you don’t count the day they are coming back, nor do you count the day you are currently on. This means you can easily, at any point, shave two days off of your countdown as and when needed. Viola! Take that countdown! Here’s some more time magic…

You don’t count the day they are back, because omgomgomgtheyarebacktodayimawakeat3amandIwenttobedat2.45.

You can also not count maybe two or three days before they are home because omgomgimsoexcitedandihavetocleanthehouseandwashthedogandthecarandmyselfanddefuzzandbuyfivenewoutfitsandemergencydiet.

Not enough? You can also cut off any days you are meeting up with friends or staying at other peoples houses, or hotels, because then you won’t miss your sailor as much when you go to bed if you are tired and tipsy and also (as every navy wife knows) time passes quicker when you’re busy.

At the beginning of a deployment round up how much time you have done to give yourself an ego and moral boost. So if they’ve been gone for ten days, that turns into a fortnight, which you mentally say as “half a month”. And then abracadabra-10 days = half a month! Which sounds a hell of a lot better than telling yourself “they’ve only been gone a week and a bit”.

A month consists, always, of four weeks, not five, no matter what the calendar (or the bank) says. This way you can say “one month down, five/six/seven to go!” sooner and feel smugger faster. (I know “smugger” is not a word, but I am employing word magic here as well as time magic so there). You can then use this feeling of amazingness to combat the ‘I don’t know how you do it’ well meaning people’s looks with an “aha but I have already almost,kind of, I’m getting there, DONE it biatches!”

Aaand the best thing is, this feeling of wowzers look at me surviving and time passing aren’t I brilliant only gets better as more time passes!

I suggest you continue lengthen time in this way so that you feel freakin awesome until you reach the halfway point when you can start to shorten time again because, hey you’ve done half a deployment now chick and you are feelin pretty fly.

So that’s one side of my relationship with time, the other side is the side when Popeye is home on leave. Suddenly the very fabric of time changes! Three weeks, which was a very short and laughable amount of nothing-time during deployment is now a beautifully long vast insurmountable amount of time that will last forever. Three weeks becomes an eternity that you refuse to see the end of.

That is until time tricks you once again. Because no matter how 100% sure you are that three weeks is, in fact, forever and ever, no matter how much stuff you plan to cram into those weeks, you will wake up one day, usually for me around about day 17-18 and go “oh crap we haven’t done anything apart from stay in bed,walk the dog, watch walking dead and eat subway for two and a half weeks! How did this happen???”

Answer: Time has tricked me, once again.

And so it starts again, the feeling of super-duper-time-on-steroids whizzing past us both, heading terminally towards him going back to that bloody ship again to spirit him away for odd weeks here and there until the next deployment.

It makes me feel like Wiley coyote and the “meep meep” bird. It really does.

One of our strengths is, as navy wives and girlfriends, we can weave a mysterious magic with time. But, as Spider-Man taught me, with great power comes great responsibility. And time will come back around and bite you on the bum the second you start to relax your attention to it.

My advice, never take your eyes off it, it’s a tricky, sneaky thing, which is simultaneously my best friend and my greatest enemy.

Muchos love,

Olive Oyl
Xxxx

Navy wife MOT

~ oliveoylnavywife ~ 10 Comments

Now I’m not saying I let myself go during a deployment, but I do “relax” into what can only be described as a asexual state.

Because navy wives are a strange hybrid during deployments, we’re not single we are “taken” in the sense that we have got a partner, but they are just not here at the minute. When I do go out, dont get me wrong, I like to look good and feel good. I’m not paired up in the traditional marriage sense, but I AM spoken for. I dont flirt nor do I want to, but you dont fit into the “single” category, nor do I feel that I can 100% fit in with the married gals I’m out with either.

I still feel single in the sense that I have only got me to depend on, there’s no lift home from hubby, no one to swap stories with when I come stumbling in, he’s not there for me to catch his eye in the universal sign of “help! weirdo alert” when some creepy guy at the bar starts chatting to me. I have to pay the whole taxi fare. There’s no one to hold my hair back etc.

To compensate for the strange dynamic of being in a relationship, yet for all intents, purposes and for practical reasons, hoofing it alone, when they’re away you can totally get away with things that you can’t when they’re home.

I don’t shave my legs when hubby is gone, unless it is a very special occasion or Im getting worried the hairs have started to stick through my leggings and the static may cause a spark at the petrol station.

I do shave my armpits, but not with the finesse or attention to detail that arises when Popeye is home or it is summer. I have been known to wear a t shirt in lieu of a vest top because of my relaxed attitude to underarm fuzz during deployment.

I let my eyebrows have a race to the centre of my forehead (not really, but they do get quite bad at points).

Skin care routine? What skin care routine? (Unless you count leaving makeup on overnight and using shower gel to get it off the next day).

Of course hubby never knows about this, when on the phone I can pretend that I’m up and am having an oh-so-productive day when really I have spent two hours playing candy crush and looking at cats doing stupid things on YouTube, I’m still in my dressing gown and the dog has buried a chew toy under the duvet next to me. In the same vein if we ever Skype I will make sure my face and upper body look great, in some stylish top, and he will never know that my bottom half is wearing primark pyjamas with jams stains on them.

I only send him the pictures of me that I like, so I get to filter out all those that make me look a tad bizarre. It’s not a lie as such, more like giving Popeye a more favourable angle to miss when he’s away.

“Ah hah! clever me!” I think. “It’s the perfect ruse! I can totally relax my already fairly lax beauty regime and he will never know! Am a genius, this way he is still in love with me and I don’t have to worry about trivial things like haircuts or nice nails! nice one Olive, you’re doing swell girl.”

This state of happy self contentment/blissful unawareness continues until…

“Oh CRAP. It’s three weeks till he’s home! Three weeks! how did this happen?
Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod”.

When you’ve stopped staring blankly at the calendar agog that the time has actually past you come to the scary realisation that, he’s really coming home AND (no matter how many times you speed change, turn off the light and dive bomb under the covers) he’s going to have to see you naked at some point. SHIT.

And I’ve just realised my mother in law reads this blog. Hi…*waves*…

Anyway…

Once the initial surge of panic fades, you make the navy wife MOT list:

1. Haircut
2. Stop biting nails then get manicure.
3. Sort out feet.
4. Shave legs (if I start now I should be finished by the time he’s home)
5. Wax everything.
6. Exfoliate six months of dead skin cells off of your body.
7. Put a face mask on, maybe play some Enya or other plinky plonky music, to try and convince yourself this is pampering and relaxing, and not at all stressful or painful.

(Oh yes and the house list:
1. Clean the crap out of everything in a style of nervous desperation because you can’t sit still until the house is gleaming and you’re scared to move anything anywhere.)

I’ve suggested at my local salon that they should have a package called the Navy Wife MOT and include a haircut, bikini wax and eyebrow shape in it. I think they though I was joking but I was totally serious! All my navy wife friends do this, or a variation of this, depending (in my case) just how bad they’ve let themselves get during the deployment. Some girls probably look like they’ve bathed in milk and honey and had their makeup licked on by kittens every day (like my personal self image nemesis at 6.30am in the morning, – Charlotte from Sky News no one should look that good at that time of the morning, it’s unnatural and unrealistic and makes me want to cry into my bowl of Special K red berries).

Sorry, got carried away.

I am not one of those girls. I forget to take my makeup off at night, and wake up looking like ive been punched in both eyes (sexy), I would rather have an extra five minutes snooze than spend ages on my makeup in the morning, I frequently button up my cardigans (see, I wear cardigans!) the wrong way and don’t notice, all day. And I have gone out SO many times with not just wet hair, but wet hair with conditioner still completely in it, for that “barely dry, yet totally greasy” look.

The annoying thing is that this homecoming level of personal preening lasts for about a month after Popeye is home, after that I relax again, not quite to deployment level, but not as OCD as when MOT time comes around. That’s because it’s just not me. I mean, I’m clean and I make sure I’m de-fuzzed, but I don’t let it take over my life. My skin may not have been treated to a facial, my eyebrows may have just left the starting blocks, but an MOT level beautification isn’t needed, as lame as it sounds I feel confident just being myself.

A navy wife MOT is that extra reassurance when I feel what (I hope) are quite natural homecoming body image insecurities. Realising that hey I’m not asexual, I’m a woman, an ok looking woman at that, and he loves me. Sometimes it just takes a little extra scrubbing to make me realise that I could show up wearing a bin bag and Popeyes eyes would still light up like its Christmas.

Well Meaning people

~ oliveoylnavywife ~ 14 Comments

Hey there people in blog world!

Happy 2014 and all that jazz! After a fairly crappy crimbo for me (which I can’t talk about right now -its a top secret matter blah blah blah), I thought I’d get cracking on another post to entertain you navy wives out there in cyber space, and hopefully make you think “jeez at least I’m not as mental as her“.

So off they’ve gone to save the world again. And you’re at home coping, leaving your clothes on the floor, not hoovering quite as much as you should, and singing and dancing along to Cher with a glass of Pinot Grigio on a Friday night because hell, you can.

Home life, although stressful and/or tedious at times is pretty much sorted. You’ve got this single woman living down. However when you step outside that front door and into the real world, there are some well disguised threats to your new found sense of equilibrium.

Well Meaning people, often coworkers, are the worst for this. “How are you doing since Popeye left?” Is a common question, accompanied by the Dreaded Head Tilt. The tilt that simultaneously says “oh isn’t she a little trooper” and “I really pity you” at the same time.

Fighting the urge to punch them in the face or burst into tears, you must give the obligatory response: “I’m ok, it’s been X many months and so far I’m doing alright”. Whilst at the same time giving a small shrug and looking humble and yet bashful.

You must say this or a variation of this. Trust me.

Screaming “I can’t cope, the house is a bomb site, the dog keeps vomiting something orange onto the carpets, in the last two weeks all I’ve had is a sodding one line email from Popeye and I haven’t shaved my legs nor armpits in 3 months” is NOT what the Well Meanings want to hear.

Other phrases I’ve come across that Well Meanings feel compelled to say, include, but are not limited to:

“Oh the time will just fly by”. (Really? And your knowledge on the “psychological interpretation of the passage of time during deployment” comes from which fully controlled and scientifically valid study???)

“I’d love 6 months without [insert civvy spouse name here], I wish they’d leave for that long!” (Why don’t you just divorce them then?)

“It must be great having the bed to yourself/tv to yourself” etc. (ok yes these are perks but gosh darn I DO NOT want you to tell me about them. When you do it makes me want to grind my teeth for some reason).

“My husband went away on business for 3 weeks, it was awful, I know exactly how you feel”. ( at this point my brain actually explodes).

Boy writing this has actually made me a little tense! *breathe*

The thing is they are genuinely trying to be kind. It’s just that when you try and comfort someone about something you have absolutely no experience of, and cannot relate to, you reach into your mind and pull out something that you vaguely hope will work. Then you’ve done your bit without staring vaguely at the person in an extended version of The Dreaded Head Tilt.

The truth is, nothing will ever be adequate, because unless they say “oh by the by my husbands the admiral of the fleet, I put in a word for you and Popeye will be home by tea time” then whatever they do say just wont cut the mustard.

And of course my reactions aren’t always as violent as described above. Those reactions are usually what I think after the third or fourth Well Meaning person has asked them.

I know I sound like an ungrateful cow for dismissing these honest to goodness questions and positive assertions about how I will cope during the deployment. And it’s so bad, because these people are kind and supportive and good people. I guess I’m just not as good as them! I’m just so glad I’ve got this space to write out my ramblings and rants. Because I really don’t want to punch a coworker in the face.

Why doesnt he just GO already?!?!?

~ oliveoylnavywife ~ 3 Comments

Im going to write about a bit of a taboo subject among us navy wives. If im wrong then I am a complete cow and I really hope hubster doesnt read this. (But if Im right then I can pretend to hear all you ladies go- “thankyou finally someones saying what we’ve been thinking, hurrah!”). Let me know. If not then maybe marriage counselling is the way forward.

I know my other two posts have been about during the deployment, but what one part no-one seems to talk about or give a flying rats arse about is the build up to the deployment. (And by “no-one” I mean many of Olive Oyls nearest and dearest, not you my lovely readers of course).

I think the build up is one of the most intense times of the year. If like me, darling sailor is sodding off again for 6 months to save to world, after pretty much every 9 months at home, then yes, it does seem to be every year. During this time I go through what can only be described as a regression. Let me describe it for you…

Staring.

I will stare at Popeye with giant Bambi eyes at various times throughout the day and night. I know Im doing it. But I cant stop it. I find myself trying to memorise his eyes, toes, knees and filtrum (thats the dippy bit under your nose, get your minds out of the gutter!).

Sometimes I make this into a game/challenge when he’s sleeping. How much can I remember in 30 seconds then put a blanket over him and test myself. Sooner or later he will notice though (read:wake up) and ask/yell at me to stop as I look creepy (apparently). In this same vein I will also take secret photos on the ipad when hes not looking/asleep.

Mini stalking.

I call this mini stalking as its stalking but on a small, non threatening scale. I guess I could have called it “drifting” or “shadowing”. Because no matter WHERE he is in the house I will somehow gravitate to just behind one of his shoulders. Or next to him on the sofa. Or infront of him when hes standing and shouting at the football on TV. Or when hes shaving (dangerous).

Sighing.

Ditto as staring (see above).

Uncontrollable hugging.

Now, I am a very “huggy” type person. I love hugs, I love giving them and recieving them. But when a deployment is looming im like ants over a picnic in summer. Its like im a junkie who knows her supply is gonna run out. I ambush poor husband with hugs. When hes trying (and failing-because of the above, and below) to eat his breakfast. When hes trying to put the shopping in the car, as he starts off for a jog, etc. Not cool Olive. Not cool.

Bursting into tears.

Basically what it says on the tin. All the time. Everywhere. With no prediction.

Wanting to create “Special” memories.

“Lets go for a walk and feed the ducks”. “Why dont we watch [insert romcom film hubby hates here] and snuggle on the sofa?”. “Lets go to the Zoo”. “Lets go back to the bar where we first met and re-create it”. “Lets make customised recordable talking bears for each other to have”. “Ive written you a poem, why dont you write me one too?”. “I want this evening to be special, lets have a romantic dinner”. “Let go ice skating and hold hands as we skate”. “Lets get each others names tattoed over our hearts its so romantic.”

And then my fellow navy wives, the last few days before D Day…

Bitch from Hell.

Basically, all the above happens and really starts pissing off Popeye (giant suprise). So he gets grumpy, and I get snappy. Make that REALLY snappy. To the point that every tiny thing he does (clears his throat, makes a sandwich and leaves the marj out, puts all his washing in to get it clean before he leaves and not mine, he breathes too loudly, etc) starts to wind me up.

I begin to make little “tsk, tsk” noises, that he pretends not to hear. I make them louder. I kick the bag he’s packing off the bed by “accident”. I start to slam doors and hide his ID badge. I stamp my foot and cross my arms. I mutter under my breath whilst tidying up. I crash in and out of rooms and I smoke. A lot.

I get so irked and stressed and annoyed by his very presence, EVERYTHING he does annoys me.

Im not sure but I think steam starts to fizz out of my ears. Im a kettle thats about to start whistling.

And then, then I think the “bad” thought…The one I darent speak aloud, and  I feel pretty bad-ass just typing it here.

“Why wont he just hurry up and GO????”

______________________

Something completely insignificant will start it off, like him asking me to pass him some socks. Or him leaving the cap off the toothpaste again. I start screaming at him and dont want to talk to him or look at him. And then I start getting really really annoyed at myself because I know that in just a few short hours I wont have that luxury. I wont see him for ages.

Then comes the second wave of anger:

“I cant even be annoyed with you because youre leaving and ITS ALL YOUR FAULT!”

Cue crying, feeling like a truely horrible person and generally chastising myself for being such an idiot.  Of course its so completely not his fault. The good thing about Popeye is that he totally gets it. Or if he doesnt he does a pretty great job of acting like he does. Which at the time just makes me feel WORSE.

Usually we have a hug. All the while im half pulling away because I am, obviously, the spawn of the devil, and half hugging him closer. Knowing that every second is precious.

You see its not HIM I want gone. Its that feeling of dread, of nauseau, of unreality and (after the first time) deja vue, that accompanies the build up to a deployment that I want gone. And the catch 22 is that the only way that it going to stop is when HE has to go. They’re two horrible feelings that are completely entwined and enmeshed together and at some point I and other people like me (I hope ahem), just lose it.

The build up to deployment is a very intense time, but I hope that the fact that me and Popeye know what we’re both like helps us to laugh at each other, once Ive finished slamming cupboard doors.

Muchos love

Olive Oyl xxxx

The Cleanse

~ oliveoylnavywife ~ 2 Comments

OK, so, breathe, you are now in the midst of a deployment. You are now a fairly experienced Phone Ninja. At some point you will go through “The Cleanse”. The Cleanse may seem cold and mean to non forces wives, girlfriends and mothers, but I argue it is actually a very important exercise.

The run up.

Personally, I give myself over to self indulgence and to be honest, self pity, for the first few days of a deployment. In my case this is 2-3 weeks where I drink an entire vineyard and dress like Daisy Bouquet from Keeping Up Appearances. (Please note that the length of time and style of dress may vary from person to person).

After all of that, you are ready, basically you come to terms with the fact that this is really happening.

Instead of bursting into tears every time you find one of their snotty tissues, instead of smelling and sighing at the dirty sock you find next to the wash basket and instead of putting off washing up “their mug” that they used just before they left………….You decide it’s time to cleanse.

How do you know it’s time?

You get annoyed at the fact that just moving around the effing house makes you want to cry.

More importantly, your house is beginning to smell just a bit ‘fusty’.

You realise you have been mostly wearing an eclectic wardrobe that look like a cross between what your Nan would wear and a 90’s charity shop (sorry Daisy).

AND you keep looking at the episodes of Game of Thrones, Match of the Day or Rude Tube that he recorded on Sky+, and you can’t bring yourself to delete them even though the final EVER episode of desperate housewives is on tonight and you need to make space to record it.

Here it comes!

At some point, you decide to stop being sad that they’ve gone, and also realise you are becoming increasingly annoyed with yourself, and you decide to JUST GET ON WITH IT.

Now if you’re reading this and you think this sounds harsh, then you are probably still in the run up phase, carry on! Enjoy it! I’m actually quite jealous. I always try to eek it out for as long as possible. Fairly soon you will start to do your own head in.

So….now you are ready.

Usually, for me, my “Cleanse” happens on a Saturday morning, after a Friday of one too many vinos on a night out with the girls. Which, although is very supportive and helpful, makes me feel even more like a sore thumb and martyr-esque than is comfortable (there’s another post coming about nights like these!).

Saturday morning, bright and early(ish); its time……

Dururururururrurrrrrrrrururr durrururrurur – (it’s a drum roll of course)

Cleansing therapy

To the bin! Go the snotty tissues and toothbrush!!!!

Banished! To the dark corners of the cupboard go the Xbox games and various appendages! (Can’t help but do a secret “hoorah” when this stuff goes)

Bye bye multiple giant designer man-coats! See you when you’re fished outta the wardrobe in 6 months! Mwah ha haa!

In the washing machine go the socks, trousers and pants!

-The T-shirts are exempt from The Cleanse. If you are like me (and I don’t care if everyone in cyber space thinks I’m weird) dirty T-shirts go back in the drawer for a later day of self indulgence, used frugally, as needed, for a “smell his smell fest”. This almost always happens when I’m feeling a tad concerned that I may have dreamt our entire relationship, wedding and marriage, my Phone Ninja senses are on high alert, and I just need a whiffy reminder that it’s all real. (If you are very clever you can actually ‘budget’ out the amount of smell to last you the entire deployment, but probably only if you’re a tad lax with housework like me and end up with a fair few stinky T-shirts before they leave.)

During The Cleanse, even receipts, notes, bank statements and “navy crap” are not exempt, just T-Shirts pretty much. By the way when I say “navy crap” I know you all know what I’m on about…random overalls, shoelaces, boot polish, socks as thick at my duvet, strange metal cylinders that you think may be some kind of bomb until you realise it’s just a flask. (By the way- please let me know of the weirdest “navy crap” you’ve ever come across in the comfort of your own home, mine was a flak jacket/waistcoaty thing last worn in Afghanistan, the dog smelled it then went and hid! He’s so clever!)

Ahh… After The Cleanse

Afterwards… you feel…refreshed, Zen-like and at one with the universe (but still a bit narked that they aren’t home). You feel invigorated, calm and confident that you can and will cope with the months ahead.

Yes, there’ll always be the random snotty tissue down the back of the sofa that you discover a few weeks later that dissolves you into tears. And yes, there will be nights where you spray the dog with Hugo Boss just because he’s taken to sleeping on the bed lately.

But because you’ve physically sorted out your home, mentally you’re now ready to knuckle down and get through the middle bit, the ‘meaty’ bit of the deployment.

The Cleanse doesn’t mean you’re forgetting your sailor, or that you’re glad they’ve gone. It’s a way of giving yourself a much needed kick up the backside and lets you get back to being the person your sailor loves.

Because, let’s be honest, the reason they’re coming back to you is because they know you can cope, even if at times you don’t know it. The Cleanse is my way of ending the self indulgent pity party (which don’t get me wrong can be a lot of fun!) and getting on with the job in hand. Supporting and waiting for your sailor, and most importantly, living your life.

Love and hugs,

Olive xxxx

The Phone Ninja

~ oliveoylnavywife ~ 4 Comments

So this is my first blog, so I’m apologising in advance for possible rubbishness.

I would like to discuss a phenomenon close to my heart, one that occurs each deployment. I’ll try to be informative, supportive and witty, but really I just want to reassure myself that I am not completely insane for several months of the year.

Today’s blog is about how I morph from a (fairly) rational, calm, organised (yeahhh….) and generally Independent Woman into “The Phone Ninja”.

The transformation

Ahem…so let me paint a picture for you, the darling love of life sailor has finally left (see my other blog post- “Why doesn’t he just GO!” coming soon).

You’re at home, and if you’re clever (I have never done this), you will have several fantastically distracting activities planned for the next 48 hours.

For the rest of us (OK maybe just me)… you come home, phone your mum, cry, get annoyed by the “It’ll fly by pickle” type conversation, open a bottle of wine and watch Bridget Jones/Twilight/Ghost (delete as appropriate). After a while you put on Destiny’s Child or similar “I can do this” type music. This continues until you realise he really isn’t calling, upon which you pull yourself together and GO TO BED.

And this is where the Phone Ninja begins to emerge. You take all forms of possible communication to bed with you. Mobile phone, home phone, laptop (with facebook chat loaded up), carrier pigeon etc. Just in case they call.

This “just in case” way of thinking takes over whilst they’re deployed. Even if you are a sensible, well rounded and secure individual. Even if you cram every waking moment with wholesome projects- last time mine were: 1)Learn Italian                            2)Take up horse riding                   3)Lose 2 stone

(None of these happened.)

Quickly you find yourself morphing into “woman with phone”.

The phone is never more than 3 metres away from you. It’s on top of the wash basket when you carry a load downstairs. It’s on the side of the sink when you’re in the shower, precariously balanced between the carex and the electric toothbrush. When you leave it somewhere you have a nagging feeling you’ve forgotten something essential, like clothes, until you realise you’re not near it. You conduct experiments to see how far the wireless signal reaches around your cul de sac…..

You become…… “The Home Phone Ninja”.

Over the first few weeks of the deployment you amaze yourself with fantastic feats to get to that ringing phone. You can drop roll over the bed after vaulting up the stairs in 5 seconds flat. And you begin doing dummy runs to improve your best time. You can hear, locate and answer the ringing phone even when completely asleep at 3am…and learn that you shouldn’t answer the phone with “is that you R Pattz?” You can easily simultaneously pull off washing up gloves and hurdle your bemused dog. (Don’t worry they stop cowering after the first few times-when they realise you can clear them in one bound).

Some Navy SWAGs are able to do all the above with babies and children in tow. This is something I haven’t had to tackle yet. To those ladies I raise my hat and sincerely applaud you. You are most likely black belt Phone Ninjas. I want to hear about your Ninja Skills. Any tips for when I have a mini Popeye on hip would be gratefully appreciated.

Friends and family.

God help any friends or family if they are standing between you and your phone call. Thoughts of how quickly you can bring them down and answer the phone in less than 10 seconds flash through your head. My friends and family must see these thoughts in my eyes as they are remarkably quick at getting out of the way.

Several times when I’ve got guests the phone has rung and I’ve yelled like a banshee from the loo-“ANSWER THE PHONE IT MIGHT BE POPEYE!!!” Whilst simultaneously trying to pull up my knickers and wash my hands.

REALLY GOOD friends will answer the phone for you at inopportune moments like this after only once seeing you charge down the stairs like a rhino trying to do up your trousers in one hand whilst reaching out for the phone in the other.

Being a Phone Ninja is a useful test of who your friends really are. The friends that just ‘get it’ and understand your temporary loss of sanity when you hear the ringtone are worth their weight in gold. Those ‘friends’ who think you are silly, overreacting or just plain mental should politely be asked to sod off.

True friends understand that the sound of the phone ringing instantly makes your pulse race and your heart flutter.  It’s the call you may have been waiting weeks for. True friends understand and will embrace the Phone Ninja you have become.

Lots of love to you all, hope you enjoyed reading,

 

Olive Oyl x