I could tell you about Mabel's trip to the dentist this morning for her very first filling. It was meant to be a crown, but she wriggled too much. I hope the filling holds, because I don't feel like doing that again soon.
Or about how I wore the skinny jeans yesterday, told Facebook about it, and was then led down a rabbit-hole of paranoia about why so many of my female friends were liking my status. Had I worded it amusingly? (Good.) Did they think skinny jeans on me sounded like a good idea? (Good.) Were they secretly laughing at how ridiculous I must look in my skinny jeans and congratulating themselves on the fact that either they look better in theirs or have the sense not to wear any? (Not so good.)
Why must we women tear each other down? Oh wait, I did all that tearing down by myself. The comments were nothing but supportive. I stopped thinking about it, was happy not to have half a square yard of denim flapping wetly around my ankles in the copious rain, and had a cup of tea.
Or I could mention that we have a babysitter booked for Saturday evening. Whether Mabel's asleep or not.