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.

4 comments:

  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.

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  2. Oh yuck. Dog poo. Oh God.

    Please let Greg not get caught!

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  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?

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  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.

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