Her: Your father was saying the other day that it's nice to have you back.
Me: Back from where?
Her: You know.
Me: Uni? Sheffield? Solihull? Because Solihull isn't that far away you know, if you'd only brave the motorway....
Her: No, not there
Me: Australia? We only went for a few weeks....
Her: No, he meant back as in, back to normal.
Me: Eh?
Her: You were always so difficult, you know, difficult to talk to, to be around, before, when you had a bob on you.
Me: You've lost me, a bob? All I can think of is hair but I'm not sure why having short hair would make me difficult...
Her: No, 'you had a bob on you', it means, you thought a lot of yourself, you had tickets on yourself.
Me: Uh... Right....
Her: You always thought you were going to get a lot out of life, that you could get to such high places, you know, like you deserved it.
Me: And now?
Her: Now you're more normal, You're just like everyone else, feet on the ground, settled, not looking for more than you should.
Me: How much can I look for exactly, before the bob appears? Because I still have ambition...
Her: Oh don't be silly Hannah, you've got plenty, drink your tea and have an organicchocolatecoatedtoffeemarksandspencerbiscuit.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Friday, January 25, 2008
Thursday, January 24, 2008
And the evening started so well....
This is a special post, for anyone reading this who may at any time have thought, even for the briefest of moments, 'I bet being with Hannah is fun, she seems funny and nice, and when she's got her makeup on and the lights are dimmed, she's just about average looking too!!'. This post, oh foolish people, is just for you.
Last night, at about 10.30, I started to get ready for bed, this involves last minute kitchen cleaning, including any left over washing up, wiping of surfaces and cupboard doors and floor sweeping, nothing too strenuous. I sighed as I realised Glenn hadn't cleaned up properly and resolved to gently bring this up with him when I went upstairs. On my way up the stairs, I had a thought, he's not going to like this, he's going to get all tetchy and sensitive, and he'll give me the look, the look which says;
"WHAT? What could you possibly want? What could I have possibly done this late in the evening to displease you? Are you going to ask me to do something? ARE YOU?! How dare you! How dare you ask me to do something when I should be able to just sit, quietly, and you should bring me stuff, like tea, and rocky bars, and beer, I DON'T WANT TO DO ANYTHING, so what? what is it? Eh? Huh? What is it nagging shrew lady I live with? What is it psycho woman? WHAT?!!!!!!"
I walked upstairs and as I entered the study I said, "Love you, could I just ask...", and that was as far as I got, he stood up, sighed as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders, and then gave me the look.
The Look.
I turned around, I walked into the bathroom, I slammed the door behind me and I fumed silently.
I came out the bathroom and he had gone to bed, I collected my book and phone from the bedroom, and went into the spare room, to demonstrate my unhappiness.
He didn't come in, I waited, and nothing, usually when this happens I stay there, I commit myself to my decision to sulk in another room and I am never the first to back down. But I was tired, and I couldn't sleep, and I needed to sleep, so I got up and went into the bedroom. But I was too angry, the moment I opened my mouth I knew I hadn't calmed down enough from the look and the expectation of the look, and I said:
"You are pathetic, PATHETIC, all I wanted was to ask you to do something you had already done in a different way, and you give me that look, the look that says "WHAT? What could you possibly want? What could I have possibly done this late in the evening to displease you? Are you going to ask me to do something? ARE YOU?! How dare you! How dare you ask me to do something when I should be able to just sit, quietly, and you should bring me stuff, like tea, and rocky bars, and beer, I DON'T WANT TO DO ANYTHING, so what? what is it? Eh? Huh? What is it nagging shrew like lady I live with, what is it psycho woman? WHAT?!!!!!!" And I will not live with that look! I don't want to! I shouldn't have to! I am not your mother and you do not live alone, and sometimes you should come after me instead of ignoring me! PATHETIC!"
And I stormed out, slammed the door, and went back to the spare room, except he didn't come after me (yeah... big surprise, because I had made myself so attractive with all the shouting), and I was still tired, and I still couldn't sleep so I calmed down and went back.
Except the bedroom door wouldn't open, not from his side or from mine, in all the energetic slamming it had got stuck. I had to get a screw driver to take off the door handle, but the screw drivers were in the loft, so I pulled down the loft ladder, but I didn't lock it properly, so as I was climbing the ladder in a room with no blind and light shining from the hall, wearing a tiny nighty (Hello neighbours! Here's my arse!!) the ladder swung out from underneath me and I was dangling from the loft hatch while Glenn shouted:
"Turn the light on in the loft!"
"I can't reach the light!"
"Why not? It's on the left"
"I KNOW WHERE IT IS, I'M STUCK AND I CAN'T GET OFF THE LADDER!"
"oh."
So I jumped off the ladder onto the desk, pulled the ladder back out, locked it and climbed back up, I got the screwdriver, unscrewed the door handle on my side, it still wouldn't open, Glenn was going to have to unscrew the handle from his side, but he hadn't got a screwdriver, so he tied my scarves together to make a long rope and threw it out of the bedroom window where I (standing outside the house in my nighty, but hell, they've seen it all now), tied the last scarf around the screw driver and he pulled it up to the window.
He unscrewed the handle and jimmied the door open.
By this point neither of us could really remember what it was that we were supposed to be arguing about but we agreed that he is a tosser and I am a drama queen.
We went to sleep.
The next day we discovered that the bathroom door frame is cracked. Possibly from the energetic slamming although I maintain that it could have been a pre-existing injury.
What have we learned from this? Not to slam doors in houses that were built in 1936, and that I am very, very lucky to have found someone that puts up with me.
Last night, at about 10.30, I started to get ready for bed, this involves last minute kitchen cleaning, including any left over washing up, wiping of surfaces and cupboard doors and floor sweeping, nothing too strenuous. I sighed as I realised Glenn hadn't cleaned up properly and resolved to gently bring this up with him when I went upstairs. On my way up the stairs, I had a thought, he's not going to like this, he's going to get all tetchy and sensitive, and he'll give me the look, the look which says;
"WHAT? What could you possibly want? What could I have possibly done this late in the evening to displease you? Are you going to ask me to do something? ARE YOU?! How dare you! How dare you ask me to do something when I should be able to just sit, quietly, and you should bring me stuff, like tea, and rocky bars, and beer, I DON'T WANT TO DO ANYTHING, so what? what is it? Eh? Huh? What is it nagging shrew lady I live with? What is it psycho woman? WHAT?!!!!!!"
I walked upstairs and as I entered the study I said, "Love you, could I just ask...", and that was as far as I got, he stood up, sighed as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders, and then gave me the look.
The Look.
I turned around, I walked into the bathroom, I slammed the door behind me and I fumed silently.
I came out the bathroom and he had gone to bed, I collected my book and phone from the bedroom, and went into the spare room, to demonstrate my unhappiness.
He didn't come in, I waited, and nothing, usually when this happens I stay there, I commit myself to my decision to sulk in another room and I am never the first to back down. But I was tired, and I couldn't sleep, and I needed to sleep, so I got up and went into the bedroom. But I was too angry, the moment I opened my mouth I knew I hadn't calmed down enough from the look and the expectation of the look, and I said:
"You are pathetic, PATHETIC, all I wanted was to ask you to do something you had already done in a different way, and you give me that look, the look that says "WHAT? What could you possibly want? What could I have possibly done this late in the evening to displease you? Are you going to ask me to do something? ARE YOU?! How dare you! How dare you ask me to do something when I should be able to just sit, quietly, and you should bring me stuff, like tea, and rocky bars, and beer, I DON'T WANT TO DO ANYTHING, so what? what is it? Eh? Huh? What is it nagging shrew like lady I live with, what is it psycho woman? WHAT?!!!!!!" And I will not live with that look! I don't want to! I shouldn't have to! I am not your mother and you do not live alone, and sometimes you should come after me instead of ignoring me! PATHETIC!"
And I stormed out, slammed the door, and went back to the spare room, except he didn't come after me (yeah... big surprise, because I had made myself so attractive with all the shouting), and I was still tired, and I still couldn't sleep so I calmed down and went back.
Except the bedroom door wouldn't open, not from his side or from mine, in all the energetic slamming it had got stuck. I had to get a screw driver to take off the door handle, but the screw drivers were in the loft, so I pulled down the loft ladder, but I didn't lock it properly, so as I was climbing the ladder in a room with no blind and light shining from the hall, wearing a tiny nighty (Hello neighbours! Here's my arse!!) the ladder swung out from underneath me and I was dangling from the loft hatch while Glenn shouted:
"Turn the light on in the loft!"
"I can't reach the light!"
"Why not? It's on the left"
"I KNOW WHERE IT IS, I'M STUCK AND I CAN'T GET OFF THE LADDER!"
"oh."
So I jumped off the ladder onto the desk, pulled the ladder back out, locked it and climbed back up, I got the screwdriver, unscrewed the door handle on my side, it still wouldn't open, Glenn was going to have to unscrew the handle from his side, but he hadn't got a screwdriver, so he tied my scarves together to make a long rope and threw it out of the bedroom window where I (standing outside the house in my nighty, but hell, they've seen it all now), tied the last scarf around the screw driver and he pulled it up to the window.
He unscrewed the handle and jimmied the door open.
By this point neither of us could really remember what it was that we were supposed to be arguing about but we agreed that he is a tosser and I am a drama queen.
We went to sleep.
The next day we discovered that the bathroom door frame is cracked. Possibly from the energetic slamming although I maintain that it could have been a pre-existing injury.
What have we learned from this? Not to slam doors in houses that were built in 1936, and that I am very, very lucky to have found someone that puts up with me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)