I need to sort out so many of things in the house this evening. I cannot see or feel floor. Obviously the first job was to switch on the computer. The next was to scoop a handful of Thuglet's popcorn. Can't possibly read all those blogs on an empty(ish) stomach. I mean dinner was easily 20 minutes ago. Much shouting needed too. Multitasking again. Then I'll need to eat some mint chocolate creams from my secret tin. Well, my baking ingredients tin. So innocent-looking. I'll be needing the energy. It requires at least 3 chocolates to erase all my recent texts in my inbox and sentbox. And after all that I'll need a little sit down. And another couple of chocolates obviously.
Trouble is THEY just won't let me get on. So much to do. But there's always something they think is more urgent - like a purple flattened finger in the bathroom door. Those sobs of agony are so distracting. As is the Diahorrea Song that flings in at top speed from the garden every now and again attached to a puffing 3 foot scarecrow with blue ink all over his face. Apparently he HAD to yank his brother backwards off his feet by the hood because ....oh I'm not actually listening. Crying won't get you any more attention. Can't you see I'm snowed under? Go back outside it's nearly bedtime. Go on.
Daddy's away for 6 more days. That's 6 more days of this interminable slog. Noone's helping me eat this popcorn you know. And I've got a packet of red highlights and a facepack with my name on it too. It never ends. It better not stain my newly painted fingernails. I just won't cope. There's still a whole weekend to get through without the aid of the golf on the telly. That's hours and hours of having to choose my own damn entertainment right there. I tell you - this lone parenting thing is hell. It's not all doughnuts and oven chips you know. There's bloody biscuits too.
I must remember to check his flight arrival time next week. Don't want him coming home to me looking all purdy now. Must kick off the sunglasses, apply chicken grease to those special places, spray liberally with Dettol (my signature fragrance), count to 10 and frown.
'Hi honey. How's it been?'
'Oh you wouldn't believe!'
Why are you not on telly, famous and v. v. rich? Email Dave and Cleggy; see if they need a speech writer who speaks to the hearts of women....I'd proper listen to them if you wrote the words..
ReplyDeleteFriends, Romans, Countrymen! Lend me 20p for the fanny machine.
ReplyDeleteNo - I got nothin'
'Dave and Cleggy' makes me laugh tho'. Who was the 3rd one in the silly green hat? Harbo?