Most people would take the opportunity of Valentineās Day to write something heart-warming about their partner, and maybe chronicle the reasons why they chose to shack up with them. I think weāve established by now that Iām not of that ilk, so Iām going to get the knife in instead. LSBās birthday was at the weekend and I bought him tickets for the rugby AND organised a night away, so the partyās over, let’s go!
(Now I say a knife, more of a palette knife, round at the edges, but a knife all the same. )
LSB is a likeable sort of a fellow. Well I thought so anyway, hence I married him, and Iām not one for suffering fools. They used to get kicked to the kerb sharpish. But he can, at times, be exceptionally annoying. Letās explore how for a moment, so we can analyse if Iām over-reacting.
Iām presently ānot at workā (save the odd seasonal bit I do from home,) thus I have my mornings free until I pick up the wee one, then it gets very busy, quickly. It is thus up to me to do the lionās share of the housework, and with my pair and himself, this is no picnic.
So how does he piss me off, let me list the ways. First up, he literally āstampsā off his jeans or ālounge wearā and I have to go a-hunting for socks and boxers which remain entwined within. If he does deign to pop them in the linen basket, they remain all rolled up and I have to unscrunch a load of dirty socks; a most unsavoury task.
Heās a hairy sort of chap, but after shaving would he ever give the sink a wee wipe? And I say hairy, but heās not a yeti, which one would think given the amount of shower gel and shampoo he goes through in a week. āLike shit through a gooseā as folk up the country would say. I get on my environmental high-horse, with all that polluting of the oceans.
Then thereās the running obsession. Well Iāve only myself to blame, it was me got him into it. But he does take it to extremes. Last week he insisted in venturing out in sub-zero temperatures when he wasnāt a bit well. āDonāt go,ā I pleaded. āYouāll be sick as a dog.ā He went on of course, regardless. Cheeks aglow, he returned, full of chat and slight bravado about his speediness. Next morning, heās coughing up a lung and shuffling around, his visage slate-grey and forlorn, while I get the kids up and out and delivered to their respective schools, resisting the urge to punch him in the face as I bundled them out the door.
With OTHER people however, heās a dreamboat. Take our safari trip, back in 2010. Iāll come clean, I didnāt know how heād fare. Iād camped in the wilds before: Iād bumped along the dirt tracks, Iād had the shits behind a tree, I thought I was ready for the challenge. Himself, heād been to a few music festivals. Turns out, that makes you a pro. He could handle any amount of discomfort. He put up our tent, then put up everyone elseās. This meant that he was often last in the queue for the bathrooms, so for 15 nights he never had a hot shower. He didnāt get one at all in the Serengeti, because the local elephants had a play fight with the remains of the water. Bastards didnāt even drink it, just sprayed it round the place. And, he was always up for the craic, chatting animatedly as we trundled through Tanzania, while I snored beside him in the van. When we managed to get stranded in Zanzibar, I nearly had a stroke, so terrified was I that weād be robbed and left for dead at the airport which was about the size of a Texaco service station and had as much security. āIāll sort it,ā he said (well he is from from the Falls), and he negotiated a flight the next day and our safe passage back to Stonetown for the night.
Closer to home, (note, not AT home) heās obliging too. At the weekend, we were invited to a terrific bash for some friends, celebrating 20 years together. There he goes again, stacking chairs, lifting tables, and putting to use skills honed from playing Tetris to pack them back into a van. āIsnāt he wonderfulā, gushed some guests. āHmmm,ā I replied. He drove too, so I could get a bit merry. āWhy the hell canāt you as helpful in our house,ā I grumbled later. He ruminated over the question before suggesting: āMaybe you should make it more of a game.ā I mean, FFS! So not only do I have to direct him towards the chores that need doing, but I have to make them fun too! I already have to play āhunt the fucking sockā when I put a wash on, and Iām not laughing. Apply your fecking Tetris skills to the dishwasher once in a while, perhaps that will amuse.
I wish not to pick too grim a picture however. He has something of the caveman instinct about him and having warmth in the home is a priority. Without his vigilant eye, weād be forever foundered, for it is he who keeps an eye on the gas meter and ensures itās always in credit. One cold Saturday night in November, we ran out of oil when our first baby was 3 weeks old. With no oil coming til Monday, he stayed awake practically all night to ensure she hadnāt frozen, and lugged heavy emergency oil drums first thing on Sunday morning.
He has also just come back from a run with some quality wines from which we can take our pick and imbibe of a Tuesday evening since, hurray, itās half term, and thereās something of a holiday feeling in the air. And of course, itās still Valentineās Day. Maybe I will go and light a wee candle after all. Iāve kind of come round to him again after writing this.