Mrs Joe, who has another two weeks off work, has taken P’s 3 and 4, who are on summer holidays, on a little girl’s-holiday-by-the-sea. It was supposed to be a girls-and-daddy-holiday-by-the-sea - although I didn’t see the point, since we live about 10 minutes from the coast and I cross over the fucking sea every day going to and from work – but I had to work anyway so it’s all academic now. I suppose for Mrs Joe it’s like camping, staying in some holiday rental house. For me it’s exactly like staying home except none of my stuff is there.
Now, I have successfully lived on my own for up to 5 years at a time and I was reasonably confident I could get along on my own for a week. I can cook and I know where we keep the extra toilet rolls. But you see I’ve lived with Mrs Joe for eight years or so and it seems I now have a three year dependency imbalance. Earlier this evening I took a shower and threw on some sweat pants as it’s been a cool summer so far. Later on, about 9pm I got up to fetch my gourmet meal of bacon, beans and chips, without the beans or bacon because we were out, from the oven when I noticed I had my pants on backwards. The little back pocket was at the front now and I looked like Timmy, the kid from my old neighbourhood who’s mom sewed a pocket on the front of his pants as a compromise against his penchant for shoving his hand down his pants to tootle his doodle. Mom said not to talk to Timmy.
Cripe sakes, what if I go to work with my shirt inside-out or something? There’s nobody to tell me. What if it gets worse and I need to have my clothes laid out, my shower run for me, all my meals…hey! There might be something to this after all. In the interest of a harmonious marriage I will encourage Mrs Skookum to vacation solo every three months until I need constant waiting upon. It’s the least I can do.
Now, I have successfully lived on my own for up to 5 years at a time and I was reasonably confident I could get along on my own for a week. I can cook and I know where we keep the extra toilet rolls. But you see I’ve lived with Mrs Joe for eight years or so and it seems I now have a three year dependency imbalance. Earlier this evening I took a shower and threw on some sweat pants as it’s been a cool summer so far. Later on, about 9pm I got up to fetch my gourmet meal of bacon, beans and chips, without the beans or bacon because we were out, from the oven when I noticed I had my pants on backwards. The little back pocket was at the front now and I looked like Timmy, the kid from my old neighbourhood who’s mom sewed a pocket on the front of his pants as a compromise against his penchant for shoving his hand down his pants to tootle his doodle. Mom said not to talk to Timmy.
Cripe sakes, what if I go to work with my shirt inside-out or something? There’s nobody to tell me. What if it gets worse and I need to have my clothes laid out, my shower run for me, all my meals…hey! There might be something to this after all. In the interest of a harmonious marriage I will encourage Mrs Skookum to vacation solo every three months until I need constant waiting upon. It’s the least I can do.
Unless of course she wants to hire a nurse to do it, say about 28 with some sort of accent “Oh Mr Joe you are so funny. Tee-hee. Now is time for sponge bath ok Joe?” I suppose I could go along with that if it made her happy.
