Wishing there was a short word to describe the Home Alone face

M just went out for the evening looking like the Czech Justin Timberlake (it's a good thing, people should wear hats more). Sadly because of an ass-kicker of a week and an exercise in sleep deprivation I am unable to join him as the Canadian and bearing-no-resemblance-to Cameron Diaz. When I get no sleep, my legs turn into jello and my eyes become rimmed with circles so dark I have all the goth girls trembling with envy. It's neither mobile or pretty, so I sent my beloved out to enjoy a festive winter's night on his own.

Being home alone affords me the opportunity to do things without embarassing myself. Not that M isn't amazingly accepting of the crazy concoction that is me, but somehow it's just easier to listen to Madonna or Kelly Clarkson CDs without feeling like I've become completely uncool.

Also, if my legs weren't a crampy useless mess, I would most likely be dancing around the house. I'm one of those people. Always have been. That girl who sings and dances in front of the mirror and shrieks in terror when someone walks in on her.

HRH