The house is a shithole; it is a bombsite, a pit of devastation left by the girls after another night of sloth. The Girlf has been continuing her mission to run my laptop into the ground and the kids have been enjoying another evening devoid of responsibility. Their dinner plates are at my feet and the floor is strewn with the crisp packets and chocolate wrappers that they leave in their wake.
I’m debating whether or not to ignore it and let them sort it out tomorrow or to clear up just so I don’t have to look at it.
The Girlf is publishing a book a month at the moment, so along with her editing work she has no time left to clean my house or wash my clothes. The Youngest has started secondary school and is full of gossip and stories, so much so she wrote her first blog on Saturday; her life is now full of new friends, evil teachers and homework, all which has to be documented. She has gone from annoying little brat to fashion conscious abo-teen in two short years. She informed us yesterday that we knew nothing about pop culture; I informed her that pop culture actually started 40 years before her conception and we could juxtapose and compare different eras. I’m pretty sure she knows what juxtapose means.
The Eldest is now at college which means she’s awake at 6am every morning to get made up; subsequently she’s in bed by nine every night. There is a hint of boyfriend, but seeing as they’re both teenagers they are doing a perfectly good job of fucking it up.
O, to be young and unconfident and crap again.
She’s turned seventeen; her party consisted of an eat-as-much-as-you-like Chinese buffet followed by hanging around outside pubs trying to look cool. This nearly broke up the sleep-over as her sensible mates didn’t want to do that, opting instead to hang out on a train station platform for an hour. Luckily her slutty mates were up for it, so she got stand outside Dragon kiss with the smokers, not smoking and no doubt looking like an underage girl.
Me, I’m skint and probably will be for the foreseeable future. Saving for the wedding plunges me into poverty by Wednesday every week. There is money then very, very quickly there is none. The wedding fund grows, the Girlf takes my contribution to the household expenses then after a quick trip to the bank I’m living on beans for the rest of the week. This will carry on until April. Then we will be married and hopefully I can have some liquidity again.
On the subject of marriage, I bumped into my Ex tonight who blanked me completely. She walked past me without as much as a word. This put my nose right out of joint as I’d just said hello and congratulated her on her nuptials. I thought this was quite magnanimous of me seeing as she starting dating her bloke only a couple of weeks after we split up, which makes you wonder. Whether there was an overlap or not is irrelevant, I was more than happy to be rid of the morose cow, but still, I expected to remain on good terms.
Clearly I must have been a bigger bastard than I thought because the girl’s ignored me every time we’ve chanced upon each other over the last three years. Well, it appears I’m the bigger person, I hope she’s happy. I wonder if he’s got a job yet.
Luckily I still fit into the suit I bought last year, because if I didn’t I wouldn’t be going to my cousin’s wedding in two weeks. The jacket fits like a glove although it’s quite snug around the shoulders and chest. It was with some pride I noted that it’s a 42 regular which means at some point soon I’ll have a 44 inch chest. Ten years ago I was wearing a thirty eight.
I didn’t try on the trousers, they’re a thirty six and they had better fit me. There is no way I’m going out and purchasing a pair of thirty eight inch trousers, I’d rather starve myself for a week. I’ve never had a thirty eight inch waist in my life and I never intend to have. Part of me still reckons that Burtons mislabeled them and they’re actually a thirty four.
The Girlf was delighted to have squeezed into her size twelve work trousers today; she hasn’t got into them in over a year. Office workers and writers live sedentary lives and unfortunately for her she’s both. Every night she cranks up the Wii had does twenty minutes of Just Dance. She’s quite self conscious so I’m not allowed to watch her jiggle away to the music, but I have had a couple of sneaky looks. It is funny… but it appears to be working so I’ll let her off.
