It all started relatively well this morning. Therein lies the problem. I rarely trust things when they’re going ok, and rightly so it seems. The boys weren’t screaming too much, I toddled off in the little car to my running group for a lovely little 10k, nice and steady, good company. I then drove home, planning a hot bath and more coffee, then perhaps tackling some of the mountains of washing, and possibly some Diploma work if I could muster any motivation by that point.
Unbeknownst to me, my darling husband had gone to work with the kids and LOCKED ME OUT OF MY OWN HOUSE, despite the fact that we had a conversation this morning where he agreed to leave the back door open because I didn’t have a key. He claims he was asleep. Bollocks was he.
I was freezing and in desperate need of a wee. I did try to break in to my own house but it wasn’t having any of it. How rude. I briefly considered banging on local running friends’ doors – because non-runners wouldn’t understand how desperate you feel after a long, cold run and might think it slightly odd – and begging for some hot water and shelter. However, darling husband, once he had finished texting me expletives FROM A CHURCH (and he thinks I’m going to hell), suggested I drove all the way to Howden to get the sodding key, then all the way home again because we had a quick turnaround at lunchtime and I needed a shower. He claimed I’d be back by 12. Oh, so only a wasted hour and a quarter then. So I spent most of the rest of my life stuck in traffic because the world and his wife wanted to go to the designer outlet, even though there’s nothing there anyone actually wants – that’s why it didn’t sell in the real shops – and nobody seems to know how to drive once Christmas kicks off. What is that all about?
I did consider diving into the Minster for a quick wee when I got there, but thought I might be seen and then asked to sing with the choir, and then be force-fed tea and biscuits, and before I knew it, I’d be doing a sponsored walk for Christian Aid. So I grabbed the key and legged it instead. And was I back by 12? The fuck I was. On the plus side, my pelvic floor got a thorough workout…
Mummy's boys 