Sunday, 4 July 2010

Complete Confusion

Josh doesn't speak to Max or I all day. But he leaves the skateboard behind when he goes round to Robbie's house. Connie's out with her boyfriend, so it's a very quiet Sunday, except for a visit from Annoying Ellen to borrow the corkscrew yet again. After another of her overly-vocal performances late last night, I ask her whether she's aware of how sound travels between our houses. I'm so stupid. She doesn't even look me in the eye, but does this silly little giggle at Max, then simpers - right at him - and says,

"Oh, sorry - it's just that I do so love sex."

That's fast becoming her mantra. I say nothing, while I envisage beating her to death with a blunt object, but Max blushes furiously and then presses the corkscrew into her hand - just a little bit more slowly than necessary.

He still seems very flustered after she leaves - though he did get bored with those sit-ups pretty quickly, so maybe everything's going to be okay. He watches TV for the rest of the afternoon and evening, and I decide to sort out my wardrobe, with half an eye on finding something suitable to wear for a date with an International Director. It's hopeless. Tragic.

I'm actually relieved when the phone rings. It's Mum again, who says that she thinks that Dad is flirting with her now. This is too horrible a thought to even contemplate. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. Divorced parents should know that you don't suddenly start flirting with each other when you're in your seventies, and when your offspring have just about come to terms with being from a broken home. I suppose I'm going to have to do something about it. God knows what Dinah will say. Would say, as I'm certainly not going to tell her! I'm not that stupid. Just hope Dad's not chatting her mother up too, otherwise chaos could ensue. What happened to women over 30 being "too wrinkly"? That man's a hazard to all women, bendy willy or not.

I'm just heading for bed for an early night, while trying not to think about work tomorrow, when I get an email. From Johnny!! I forgot that not everyone is like The Boss, who turns his phone off whenever he can, and who has been known to throw it into the Thames - along with his pager - when he starts feeling persecuted. Johnny keeps his Blackberry turned on. I wonder if this is an omen?

He doesn't say much, just,

"Fabulous arse. When can I see it in the flesh? Name the date, and don't keep me waiting too long."

Oh, my God. Now what? It makes a nice change that here's a man who's really in charge, though.

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