How I Met Your Father: the one where 2020 took things to Jumanji levels of horrible

There I was, lying spread-eagled, legs in the air, searching for my underwear, panting hard and screaming the Good Lord’s name…

I know what you’re thinking but get your minds out of the goddamn (pun totally intended) gutter!

I’d recently torn my left ankle’s tendons and had realised, midway through trying to pull my pants over my ridiculously sexy ( NOT) moon boot, that I’d forgotten to slip my panties on first. To quote this lovely old broad:

Of all the ways I imagined exerting myself in my bedroom once the national lockdown levels had been lowered, this was not it.


Sigh…


And once again, 2020 was attempting to give Jumanji a run for its f***ing money. At this point, my New Year’s Eve was going to look like this:

With another two months of strict bed rest ahead of me ( yes, I’d painfully been granted my wish of not going outside just yet – the Big Guy has a sick sense of humour!), I would have more than enough time to make my life changing moves from my bedroom, which really is where all epic things start, right?!

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