Stressed Husband tries to be romantic. Merde!

Ordinary Day about 6.30pm in Our House
Me:(wearing alluring ensemble of Uggs and PJ bottoms and extra large Stressed Husband’s fleece because I don’t follow the relationship rules of 60’s crooner Jack Jones in his ‘Wives should be Lovers’ song. No I won’t do my hair and makeup before hubby walks through the door after work, just in case his eye should be turned by a pretty girl in the office. But I do enjoy the tune. This Julie London version above is fab! And I do choose to follow the song’s advice of dimming the lights and pouring the wine out – making sure SH believes it’s my first glass of the evening. Any wine before SH comes home isn’t counted because it’s to do with flavouring the cooking (gentle cough.) To Mean Teen:
“No! I’m not having 7 girls sleepover this weekend. And that’s final! Mind the oven, it’s hot.”
Mean Teen: “You. Are. So. Tight… Mum? What’s your problem?” (Heavily eyelined eyes follow mum around the kitchen with disdain.)
Me: “I’m not discussing it. You remember what happened last time…Oh stop staring. Maybe in the next school holidays, but not during term time. Now. Mind out of the way because dinner’s ready.”
Mean Teen: “I’m not hungry. I’m not eating. (mobile trills and Mean Teen slinks out of kitchen then turns back to look at mum with phone at ear. Voice louder so caller on mobile can hear.)And don’t forget you said I could have my belly button pierced soon.”
Me: (Almost dropping roast chicken and swearing under breath) “I didn’t! Ok. I did. But I didn’t mean it. I just wanted you to stop talking about it when you were 14, so I said you could when you were 15. But now you’re nearly 15, I’ve changed my mind. You can wait until you’re 16.”

SH: (Sliding up behind me in kitchen, putting arms around my waist. Getting under my feet.)
“So darling. How about it? Paris for Valentine’s weekend. It’s all booked.” (Big. Smug. Grin. On. Silly. Face)
Me: (Dishing out peas, remembering Little Angel has gone veggie and wondering if she’ll eat the chicken if I tell her it’s Quorn. Yeah, she’ll buy it.) “Oh wow. Really? I love Paris! (Feeling happy and excited!) So, who’s got the kids – my mum or yours?” (Wondering how he’s managed to organise the kids and get babysitting sorted. Thinking that he is lovely and thoughtful.)
SH: “Oh. Erm. Well I thought the kids could come with us. Bit of culture. No computers.”
Me: (Disappointed. Severely. Stabbing chicken onto plates and pretending not to care.) “Erm. Ok. S’pose so. What hotel have you booked?” (Brightening up again. Thinking of chic boutique hotels in the Latin Quarter. Pain au Chocolate and shopping in flea markets)
SH: “Erm. Well…I haven’t booked a hotel yet.”
Me: “So. What exactly have you booked?” (Voice beginning to sound strangulated.)
SH: “Eurotunnel?!” (Looking like he’s done something special.)
Me: “So. Who’s booking the hotel then?”
SH: “I thought you’d want to. But nothing expensive. Credit Crunch remember. Oh, but we’ll do a day in Disneyland Paris – the kids will love that.”
Me: (Looking at the plates of dinner getting cold on the worktop) “How romantic.” (Deadpan.)
SH: “I know. See. I told you I’d surprise you for Valentine’s!” (Walking to the dining room to tell kids of impending family trip to Paris. Big. Stupid. Smile. On. Bloody. Silly. Face.)
ME: “Fucking Bon Appetite” (under my breath.)
Little Angel: (who’s been doing handstands quietly outside the kitchen.) “Ohhhhh mummy! You swore!”


2 thoughts on “Stressed Husband tries to be romantic. Merde!

  1. AGHHH!
    I know, why don’t you book them all into Eurodisney and then ‘come down with a terrible 48 hour bug’
    It will be very romantic- you , some chocolates, a novel, a film and NOBODY ELSE.
    OMG. I think I’ve hit on a winning solution, I have to go now and book us all into Disneyland for the weekend before I get sudden onset flu

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