Fear of Fear (The Finale)

Now we come to the reason why I started this series of posts on FEAR.

I've Got A Problem (Part the First)

The problem is that I quite like Christmas.

Dirty Habits

Don't get too excited about the title, it may not be what you think.

Domestic F*cking Bliss

Absolutely gorgeous day today.

I Love My Wife

WARNING:
This post contains items of a vaguely sexual nature, and may offend those of a highly sensitive and anti-heterosexual character. 
Any men who have not yet figured out that the WOMEN have the upper hand or how life really works should not read any further. 

If my daughter is reading this, DON'T. 
Log off and go and make his tea; you really don't want to know what happens between your Mother and Me in the Hours of Darkness.


I love my wife.

I really do.

Honestly.

No Question.

But sometimes to quote a friend from Yorkshire, "She makes it bloody hard"

Nothing to do with the text, but a very cool picture.  It's a bloke sort of thing

I was late home on Friday, finalising the reports and the relief for Monday, and my beloved had been looking forward to going swimming, as we had previously arranged.

The report checking was taking a lot longer than we had planned, so I texted my beloved to let her know I would be a bit late.  The first signs of trouble appeared in her reply.  No XXXs.  We always suffix our texts to each other with XXX.  I know it might appear a bit silly and teenager-like, but we do love each other (normally) and show it in little ways. 

We hold hands while walking in the park, we kiss every time we see each other after having been away (trips to the toilet do not count) from each other for any length of time.
We ignore each other's little faults and peccadilloes. 
I ignore her always leaving the toilet seat down and her addiction to Women's Magazines. 
She ignores me always leaving the toilet seat up, farting in bed, in the garden and on the couch, drinking too much whisky (on the odd occasion) and glancing surreptitiously at pretty girls wearing tight clothing (the girls, not me) when out in the car.

So not getting the XXXs meant she was annoyed.  How annoyed I'd find out.  I wasn't daft enough to actually phone her and find out.That way lies madness, despair and the very strong possibility of physical damage. (to the bloody phone after I had hurled it against the wall)

I was really quite late, getting home about 6:45 pm, and I could tell by the small, fixed, smile my beloved was bestowing upon me, that she was unhappy.

We still kissed.  Even when we are really angry with each other, we still kiss. 

I strongly believe that even if my beloved came into a room and found me standing over a dead body (please let it be Ringo) with a smoking gun in my hand, she'd still give me a little kiss.

If she came into a room and found me standing over a live woman with something else in my hand she wouldn't.  She wouldn't because I'd be out the window before she could get hold of a gun, smoking or otherwise.  Actually I jest, as I have never even thought of any hanky-panky with anyone, male, female, animal or even mineral (including plastic blow-up fantasy dolls) since we married 34 years ago. 

Ohhh.  I had a thought.

No, that's not 100% true.  The very occasional thought, vaguely sexual in nature may fly through my mind if I ever spy a pretty lady (never, I should remind everyone, never any school girls.  Ever.  I mean it.  I may be a bloke with normal bloke-like thought patterns and reflexes, but I'm not a perve, I'm a teacher) but the speed of the thought's transit approaches that of light.  So I see and think C. (Bit of a scientist joke here.  You can read it up on the internet.  Try wikipedia )

So we kissed.  It was just above the bare minimum  acceptable to us, about 3 on a 1 - 10 scale.  She really was upset.

This meant I had to MAKE IT UP.  I don't mean lie to her, I mean do many of these little things that make her happier.  Maybe dig out the mental list of little jobs she has mentioned to me in the past, but that I had put-off, forgotten and ignored.  I had to re-balance the virtual ledger that was life, and I'd better hurry.

NOTE TO NEWLY MARRIED/PARTNERED BLOKES.

Balancing is important

Never, ever let the lady choose the method of re-balancing, you might end up in deeper trouble than when you started.

Examples of what ladies might want on their list of re-balancing options:

• neck-rub
• foot-rub
• whole body massage using rare oils and unguents
• accompanying them shopping for shoes
• blow-drying hair
• vacuuming and dusting
• weeding the garden
• walking the dog when it's raining and the dog has diarrhoea
• going to church
• discussing our relationship and sex

Examples of what blokes might want on their list of re-balancing options:

• vacuuming and dusting
• polishing our shoes
• weeding the garden
• checking the oil, water and tyre air pressure for her car
• Giving the large cooker a complete scrub down and de-grease
• holding hands
• cooking the evening meal
• going out for a meal
• having a drink and relaxing (imaginary)
• sex

Find out what happened in the next exciting episode of:  How the hell does this work?

Just a hint.  It may well include SEX.

Weather (2)

THANK YOU

Before I start the main topic of this post, The Weather (again), I'd just like to say thanks to all of you that have made this blog the thing of beauty it has evolved into. 
I'd like to thank my beloved for allowing me to use "Your Bloody Electronic Mistress" between the hours of 5-6 am and 7-8 pm (except at weekends, when it's "sneaking in under the radar" when she's having a little post-lunch nap). 
I'd like to thank Richard [of RBB] and the temporarily absent ManOfErrors, who introduced me to the world of blogging. 
I'd like to thank The Curmudgeon for proving that there's someone out there who's as bitter, twisted and cynical as me. 
I'd like to thank Second for continually disappearing. (Keep it up Second, you'll get it right one of these days, and disappear permanently)
I'd like to thank all of the weirder manifestations of disturbed psyches who keep appearing, leave inane comments and then bugger off.
I'd like to thank all of the little people who allowed this gentle and unassuming blog to reach over 20,000 views in just 9 short months.

9 short months

I thank you.  I couldn't have done it on my own. [Ed. Well actually you could have.  If you were willing to do nothing but click onto your own blog every spare second of the day, then it is possible to build up a huge number of hits.  But only a sad and twisted person would stoop to such depths of iniquity]

However, I would like to get back to my topic, The Weather.

Last Tuesday (The Canterbury Earthquake Day), while my beloved was watching the news develop on TV, and I was doing the same on "My Bloody Electronic Mistress" (The time allowance having been extended due to the terrible events of the day), I heard my beloved mutter something about the weather.
Now we'd just had our sports day cancelled (see the last post - Weather) due to heavy rain, and I thought my beloved was referring to that, so I sort of grunted in agreement, then my sub-conscious and extremely suspicious (let's call a spade a spade; its not just suspicious, it's completely insanely paranoid) reptilian brain put up a flag that what she said did not coincide with what I thought she had said.

The Reptilian brain is the oldest (and most suspicious) part of teh Brain

I must digress.
This next part may come as a shock to any members of the gentler sex who peruse these pages.

Men don't really listen to your inane lists of things that have happened.
We don't care that cousin (twice removed and lives in Stoke-on-Trent) Gladwys has had surgery to those bits that guys don't want to talk/think about.  (We don't mind looking, especially if there's two women and mud involved, but we don't want to talk about it.)
We don't care that butter has increased in price another 5 pence/cents.
We don't care about the plot of whatever cheap American-imported soap opera you've been watching during the day while we've been working like dogs, bringing in the money we need to survive.
We don't care about your opinion on politics/sports/industrial relations.
We don't care about what plans are boiling in your little cerebellum regarding future celebrations of birthdays, anniversaries, St. Valentine's Days, Mother's Days, Father's Days etc.

Please note that all of the above are predicated on statements made whilst doing other things in a lounge/sitting room/snug at home.

If any of the above are initiated while occupying the marital bed, then we're all attention until either:

We fall asleep (10 minutes max)
We get sex

We get sex, then fall asleep (5 minutes max)

Men have developed a defence mechanism called the anonymous grunt.

Anything stated by the partner can be responded to by using the grunt.  It can sound affirmative or it can sound negative, or even non-committal.  The beauty of the anonymous grunt is that it sounds like the expected response.  If your beloved thinks she should be hearing a "YES", it sounds like you are agreeing, and vice versa.  If she wishes to discuss the topic in more detail, she hears the anonymous grunt as a request for more information, which allows her to happily prattle on.

Please don't be upset, any lovely ladies who are reading this (Fflur, Nicola and Ax included) we don't mean to offend you, it's just a simple defence mechanism.  Guys want to talk about nuts and bolts,  We want to talk about problem solving.  We would happily talk about the best method to fix/repair a damaged door for hours (especially over a few beers and the back of an envelope with a pencil in hand) but we don't like (read hate) to discuss feelings, or emotions or relationships.  It's just not us.

Anyway, back to the weather.

Oh bugger, I've run out of time.  Must head of to Nuova Lazio High School to get the relief set up.  I'll tell you all about what my beloved said about the weather next time. 

It was really odd.