What a day. Has your day been like that? IS your day currently like that?
Let’s have a photo of something peaceful to calm down any unhappy spirits:
Did that work?
Not even a little bit?
Then we’re all doomed to depression.
Anyway, moving on:
In this old stone (crumbling) abode, we have had a (half) week of peepee and caca.
If it wasn’t Lidl Supermarket Chain Dog with a urine infection? Bladder control? Bad manners (certainly) then perhaps it was Fatty pushing the limits of his Freedom of Nappy Bottom Phase. There has been wee every-where. I have been walking around with an old rag (actually, the husband’s favorite item of clothing – it would be hard to distinguish the two) and disinfectant spray. It’s got so bad that I think the villagers are dropping in just to pee on the floor. I exaggerate NOT.
We’ve also had more poo munching by the said dog; taking toilet paper (used and a deep shade of …..brown) from the toilet (‘but I always flush the chain, mummy’), a bare bummed Fatty squatting in the garden and releasing his bowels without getting any on his trousers …….or so I thought.
‘mummy, I wet my trowlers’ as Fatty comes in with his feet apart and his lower body resembling a triangle.
‘all right (feckin feckin feck). Come over here and I’ll take them off…..and your wet shoes and weewee socks”
‘are you cwross, Mummy?’
‘no, fatty but next time, tell me.’
So I cuddle him as I put him up onto my knee, lift up his bum to pull down his ‘trowlers’ and ‘oh, but what’s this on my hand and jeans? I didn’t give you any chocolate, Fatty? AGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH Yuk!’
“mummy, are you cwross now?’
has gone to Paris.
The other one is far more demanding and alluring than moi.
Never mind, it’s not like he left half the garden wall pulled down and unfinished and not like he left a power drill switched on in the area that Fatty plays. No…..not like that at all.
Normally, when the Husband is gone, the Prodigal behaves.
I said normally.
But not this time.
If I could package him up in a box and another box and another box and then cellophane (industrial strength) it, put a chain around it and padlock it and then send it (the box) to a destination 1,000km west of, say,,,,,Sydney……then I would!
I get home at 10.30 this morning:
‘what’s wrong with you, Prodigal?’
‘You’ve come home.’
Great. I can’t say our exchanges got much better from there. Still, it beats him tapping his fingers on the kitchen table (incessantly) for around 15 mins on Sunday when I accused him of having drunk alcohol.
He denied it.
But then he always does.
He gave me some words of wisdom. In his denial of having drunk alcohol and generally tripping over his sober…..yes, sober words, he told me: ‘You’ll understand when you’re older.’
Yep. My 18 yr old said that to my 41 year old self.
Yep. Two girls from the village who hung around (for at least an hour) the (broken, unbuilt, unsecured) garden wall JUST to get a glimpse of him…….. I’m presuming it’s of the Face they’re interested in and not say, the builders bum showing, half naked, wild haired husband. Well, there is no accounting (none) for taste.
Has yet to edit his latest love letter to his amour. Currently, he signs off saying:
‘It’s been ages since you rubbed me’ – we need to work on his spelling – it’s not what he meant to say (I hope).
Told me not to worry that I couldnt’ remember something as ‘you don’t sleep too good.’
what an understanding child. Funny though, because as he said it, I swear I saw him smile towards his father in a ‘check out the mad old bat’ (yes, each insult has it’s own facial expression).
I enjoyed that.
We even left the house and ate in a place called a restaurant. Not once but twice.
yes, I know that I covered him (and he covered me) earlier but I’ve just realised that he has been asleep for 40 minutes and it’s 5.20 p.m. MERDE!
I’m signing off dear blog/readers/weirdos
but I shall leave you with these wise words:
“Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”
(that’s here as in the village of Nowhere, SW France).
Who will edit this post for me?