Sunday, 16 May 2010

A Deadly Weapon

I wake to a text from Greg, which says,

"Molly - having provided a useful public service by cleaning the streets of dog mess, I am now being creative with Photoshop. There will be a treat for you in the morning."

Oh God, now what's he doing? And how many letterboxes did he post poo through?

I decide not to bother to find out, and instead spend the day doing the usual mundane household tasks. Then, by virtue of some shameless bribery, I force Josh and Connie to make their duty calls to the extended family.

When I hear Connie earnestly explaining oral sex to Aunty Edith - presumably unasked - I decide to see if I am able to tolerate gin again. Sometimes I think we should have Connie tested for Aspergers, but I'm not sure I'd really want to know the result.

I don't know if Max was listening to Connie, so it may be a coincidence but, when we finally fall into bed, we somehow find the energy for our bi-annual shag. It's very nice, and Max wonders aloud why we don't do it more often. I reply that it may have something to do with his love affair with the TV, to which he laughs as if I had been joking.

There's some blood on the sheets afterwards, though, and Max says,

"What's this? Have you got your period?"

"No," I say, while trying not to panic. "My hymen probably grew back."

He doesn't laugh, and all that restored closeness evaporates at one lash of my tongue. There must be a market somewhere for that kind of deadly weapon.


  1. Excellent work.

    Old girl and self are inspired to up activity from biennial to at least once a year, poss around pancake day. Everything has a cost though: prize-winning hymen display may suffer at village show.

  2. Oh yuck. Dog poo. Oh God.

    Please let Greg not get caught!

  3. Hi Piers - thanks so much for your comment. I entirely sympathise with the biennial thing, but hadn't previously thought of pancakes as libido enhancers. Will see if I can recall how to make them.

    Roses, Greg likes to flirt with danger and dance with death. Who knows what will happen to him?

  4. Oh golly gosh, am recalling there's an airborne element of pancake cookery that is incompatible with re-booting the marital bed.

    I think I'm going to have to think it out again.

    Never mind, Old Girl shares a chap's fascination with leap years. But not World Cup ones. Village Show triumphs beckon.

    Good luck by the way.