Skip to main content

Phone Home

Why is it that the Prince comes home and expects a certain kind of attention -- but during the day I might as well be the tax man.

This morning he could barely speak to me by phone for 14 seconds -- and lest you think I don't get office-life, I used to work at a news daily where I had to write 3-4 stories a day. Phone time was precious -- but for the Prince, I always carved out time.

By the time he gets home at night, I am stressed from my own work, the Rabbit and usually irritated by the brusque treatment from him during our one or two calls.

How hard is it to shift tones for 30 seconds, then hang up and pit bull on someone else? I think the rest of this week I'm on phone boycott. Watch: He'll never even notice.

Comments

Bec said…
An excellent question. I know it's almost a cliche but I think it's the way men compartmentalise things. It's just easier for them NOT to think about other things than it is for us (hmmm, could that be because we simply have no choice but to think of twenty things at once because the men can only deal with one thing at a time??)
11:41 am
Kate B. said…
I have to admit I behave like a guy on this one. Alpha Male calls me at work and I can just about manage 'hi' and 'where did you park the car this morning?' (re school pick up, we do shifts). It's terrible, I feel guilty about it, but I have to concentrate so hard at work I become a souless corporate zombie. That's my defence, anyway. Shame on me.
5:50 pm
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Grim Reaper

Firstborn is obsessed with death. It started with the odd comment, such as; "Mummy, what happens when you die?" OK, I thought, I was expecting this at some point, what a cute little curious brain she has. So I trotted out all the cosy Heaven stuff and left out all the things that could worry her, such as worms and bones and holes in the ground. This went down pretty well, although somehow Firstborn made the jump from my view of Heaven (filled with love, joy, always warm, never rains, has a huge discount designer shoe outlet and I never have to pay my Visa bill) to her own view of Heaven; a wonderous place where small girls don't have to eat their vegetables before they're allowed pudding, and where Barbie dolls grow on trees. Anyway, I digress. Last week Firstborn started shouting "Kill! Kill!" in a bloodthirsty tone while bashing her hithero-beloved teddy against the wall. This was topped by her purposely flushing her favourite My Little Pony down the loo. ...
11 comments
gimme more...

What Price Romance?

Let's talk romance for a moment. Manhattan Mama clearly feels deprived in this department and this is one of the most bewildering aspects of life with her. My latest attempt to remedy this is to make a reservation at A Voce--some interpretation of Tuscan cuisine--that the NYT recently gave three very optimistic stars. I've been a few times on my employers expense, so I know it's nice but I also know what it's going to cost. I'm thinking lucky if we get out of there for less than $150. Tack on another $50 for the babysitter. Then drinks, cabs, etc. Better not to do the math. It's not that MM wouldn't be perfectly happy with a kabab or a trip to the hipster taqueria, maybe some flowers from the corner stand. None of that would register in her mind as this mythic thing know as a DATE, and thus would win me no more points on her end than remembering to take down the recycling. Making a DATE means you're thinking of her, which means you're engaged with h...
10 comments
gimme more...