MY first wee problem in that the smell of bamboo is giving me the boke.
How had I never realised before the stuff is fucking rank? Like a bottle of Tippex mixed with old man’s pish. I had to ask the zookeepers to take it all away and bury it.
My husband, Yang Guang, went in the huff cause there’s not much else to eat round here. So the other night, I was like ‘Yang Guang, I could pure go a black pudding supper – gonnie nip out to the van? And can you also get a can of Diet Irn Bru? And a bottle of Gaviscon? Here’s a tenner.’ Took him ages to get off his fat arse and then I got carried away with the Gaviscon and gave myself the skitters. There is literally no aspect of this I am finding magical. Is it all worth it?
And on the big day, what to expect? Folks say panda babies are really toty and it could be a case of ‘sneeze and you’ll miss it’. But what if the baby’s head’s coming out and I’m like ‘och here, that’s just a wee jobby’? But my biggest fear is all these mad psychic dreams I’ve been having. Last night, I dreamt I had the wean and it had the body of a panda and the head of John Leslie.
My guts are mental at the moment. What if I’m in the middle of pushing and I accidentally let out a windy-pop? This happened the other day when I was trying to get a beachball out of my tree and all the tourists started pissing themselves. I was like “It wisnae me, it was a lawnmower’ but they didn’t hear because they were all putting it on YouTube. Last night, I blew off in my sleep and Yang Guang went aff his nut ’cause he said it smelled like petrol and gangrene and I wasn’t a lady to him anymore. Then he stormed out the panda hut and slept in the hedge.