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So which unused utensil is the juicer?

It's the little things that get to me – and let's be honest, if I had a figure nearer to that of Victoria Beckham, they wouldn't.

I parked my car on a wide enough road the other day and when I returned and went to open the driver's door, a car was approaching. He jammed on his brakes and waited. In my estimation, there was enough room to fit another two cars, but there was no way he was coming through. I stood there and waved him on. He sat there and looked appalled at the fact that I thought he could fit. We were at an impasse.

I had stuff in my hands which I needed to load and I wasn't going to move around the front of the car. I thought about leaning against the car and sticking out my curvaceous bottom and shouting at him, 'Try now', but I thought better of it. Either he's a vile driver or he saw me as some mountainous obstacle. Either way, I was on the verge of kicking the sh*** out of his car. I eventually gave in, shaking my head and waving my hands about. He drove through, probably muttering 'fat bitch' to himself.

On my recent birthday, my friends gave me a singing card with 'You're not old til the fat lady sings' and inside a large warbling lump performing some aria.

Now for fear of incurring the wrath of my friends, who had very kindly taken me out for a beautiful meal, I hasten to add that they know I'm not that sensitive and if I were totally huge they wouldn't have given it to me, and I did get a great kick out of it. But the fact remains there must be some truth in these little happenings and it's quite clearly time to get the juicer out from the back of the cupboard. If only I knew which one of my many unused utensils is the juicer ...

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