Posh hotels and hairy armpits

My friend from work is texting me from the Chateu, a very posh hotel near the snow fields. Looks pretty impressive in the picture. I'm jealous.  Smiley is English and has lived in New Zealand for about five years. Before she came here she probably spent most of her winters making snow angels and not eating yellow snow; I've never even seen the stuff in real life.

I think holidays tick me off bit because everyone else seems to be having more fun than me.  There's my friend staying at the ridiculously elegant Chateu, listening to a concert pianist in the dining room whilst my other friend Ant, has had a romantic rendezvous on the North Shore. Still others have nipped across the Tasman for some sunshine on the Gold Coast and here's me stuck at home trying to get to the bottom of a mountain of dirty washing or draining nasty ick from Albie the Abscess in my armpit (refer to earlier post about bug bombing).  It just doesn't seem fair, does it. I'm jealous, jealous, JEALOUS!

Speaking of armpits, I don't think they're ever pretty. Armpits are disturbing to look at.  Albie's presence has made mine even more unsettling because he's gone and put a restraining order on the Ladyshave, resulting in Poodle Pits. The Europeans might have a fetish for it but if Julia Roberts couldn't get away with it, nobody can because it's just so wrong!

Smiley just sent me a text to say she's off for a luxerious soak in the bath.  And truthfully...I hope she has a wonderful time because she really does deserve it.