Friday, 16 September 2011
Put your foot down
There comes a time in every marriage, when the real boss emerges from a henpecked obscurity.
I'm normally pretty easygoing.
I know my Beloved has a bad back caused by years of lifting patients when she was a nurse, and I really don't mind doing the odd jobs around the home (which I secretly think are "women's work"
I happily wash and dry the dishes after meals.
I smilingly vacuum the carpets and dust in the high places.
I even sing as I do the weekly ironing.
I dance quietly as I load up the washing machine and hang out the clothes.
I grin as I pick up all of the doggie poo the little shit machine has deposited on the back deck.
All this I do willingly because I do love my Beloved,and I can see the pain reflected in her anguished, beautiful face.
But there is a limit.
It was reached on Wednesday night at 7:45 just as Scotland was playing (and eventually defeated Georgia 15 - 6).
My worm-turning phrase was :
Ladies of a gentle disposition should avert their eyes from the following, or at least have a stiff drink before continuing.
Strong men my wish to pick up some tissues to absorb the obligatory flood of tears.
"NO DEAR I DON'T WANT TO MAKE LOVE. "
"I WANT TO WATCH THE BLOODY RUGBY "
That told her.
It is a bit lonely in the camp bed in the garage, but I'm sure it'll work out in the end.
At least I've still got my whisky.