Thursday morning. Mr Grumpy Blackheart has a day's leave. I get up at 6:20 as I have done every day this year, to get son to the station on time for his train. I then take daughter to school at 8 am, briefly see Mr Grumpy Blackheart is up and getting his breakfast, and go jogging in the forest. When I arrive back at the house an hour later, I go into our bedroom and see he has gone back to bed. Oops! I close the door gently and tiptoe away, thinking I will have my shower later, as the bathroom is just next to our bedroom and I don’t want to make any noise.
My morning progresses satisfactorily: important writing, proofreading and emailing. I briefly visit Mr Blackheart in the basement where he is fixing the punctured tyre on his mountain bike, then get back to work in my study. At midday I hear Mr Blackheart making kitcheny noises, which means he is getting his lunch, but I don’t want to stop while I’m in the middle of a creative streak, so I keep working. At around two o’clock I succumb to hunger and skip downstairs in a good mood to get my lunch. I know Mr Blackheart often has an afternoon nap on weekends and holidays, but I foolishly assume that would not be the case today, as he has already spent the morning in bed. Wrong!
Later in the day he complains heavily that he couldn’t sleep this afternoon because of all the noise I made in the kitchen (microwave pinging, cupboard doors being opened and closed, my conversation with the rabbit). I sweetly tell him that if he would care to
inform me when he is taking a nap I will be happy to sit noiselessy in a corner with my hands folded silently, but because he had a
grasse matinée, I assumed he would not require further slumber today. I also inform him that I deliberately did not use the bathroom in the morning because I knew he was in bed, even though I am dying to take a shower. I cannot refrain from adding that some of us get up early, take care of children, do exercise, work, housework, and do not actually have time for lie-ins and afternoon naps. Some of us pretend to be young, bouncy and energetic, even if we are not, in order to avoid sliding into a state of lethargic depression.
Friday morning. Mr Grumpy Blackheart’s regular day off work (he works a four day week). He stays in bed until 11 am. I get the children out of the house by 8 am, go jogging, come home, have my shower, make my breakfast
(ping! slam!) and talk loudly to Fluffy with lots of joyous exclamations.
Fuck you Mr Grumpy Blackheart!
I have a
life!
(Note: He is now up at 11:20 and is vacuuming the lounge, even though I did it yesterday, because apparently I didn't use the correct attachment for rugs.)
