Skip to main content

Swine-free and pool-less

Here's the good news. There is officially nothing swine-ish about me: I have been given the all clear on the H1N1 front.

The bad news is that I'm still sick but, as always, I shall shoulder it with stoic determination (and possibly a minimum of whining) and rise to the challenge of the school run and incessant demands for bottom wiping/ dinner/ treats/ homework assistance.

Onwards and upwards.

The other bad news is that Alpha is in the midst of a frenzy of economising which means I'm not allowed to go shopping for fun stuff (I mean, who ever heard of only buying things that you need?), am having to downgrade my mani-pedi sessions from the nice place in the Mercato Mall (replete with marble basins and an embarrassment of Essie polish shades to choose from) to the local hole-in-the-wall (I think they sterilise the equipment adequately, euw, plus their choice of polish comes in a plastic veggie basket and half of them are gunky, boo) and - GASP - no renewal of our beach club membership.

This latter news had me in a proper frenzy. No nice icy-cold pool to dive into to beat the heat? No private beach to frolick on? It's utter madness.  Is Alpha trying to drive me crazy? Is this a prelude to divorce? Is it in retaliation for my refusing to let him play golf last weekend? I just don't know what he's playing at.

And what about the children? Think of the poor kiddies, sweating and rosy-cheeked every weekend while their friends are swimming like mermaids in chilled waters. I don't think that adding ice-cubes to their paddling pool is going to cut the mustard, I really don't.

This is a declaration of marital war. There's nothing else for it but to roll up my Marigolds and play hardball. Alpha will be cowering like our recently neutered tomcat when I'm done with him.


Jane said…
Outrageous behaviour from a husband! Hit him good YLM.
YLM said…
Thanks Jane, he is already reeling under the force of my rage.

Popular posts from this blog

Apologies for being incommunicado this week and hope none of you out there are too distraught not to be receiving the usual almost-daily MotV missives. The reason for the silence is that I'm up to my neck, metaphorically-speaking, in research papers for my first grad course assessment. This experience has made me realise how rigorously un-academic I am in my thinking. It has also illuminated how reliant I am on red wine in order to get through endless evenings typing furiously on my laptop, not to mention the fueling of increasingly colorful curses that I feel obliged to aim at the University's online library system which consistently refuses to spit out any of the journals I'm desperate for (I refuse to believe this is 100% due to my technical incompetence...)Oh well, if this is the price one has to pay in order to realize a long-cherished dream then it's not all that bad... No one ever said a mid-life career change would be easy. Wish me luck!

Recommended & the Mahiki dance-off

My GFs and I went to Mahiki last night, great fun as usual but made me feel a bit old; it seems that Thursday night is the playground of the just-past-pubescent. Oh well. Good tunes though, so whatever.In between taking over the dancefloor - the youngsters may have youth on their side but frankly that shrinks to insignificance in the face of two decades of clubbing experience - one of my GFs and I got into a conversation about why so many people are full of bull.It appears that many people we come across are content to live their lives in a superficial way, skimming the surface of what life has to offer and equating the ownership of stuff (cars, houses, boats, jewelry, designer clothes) with happiness. They converse in terms of status, strut their possessions as a measure of their own self-worth, take themselves far too seriously, are quick to judge others, easily annoyed, complain a lot about very little and their worries seem to far outweigh their joys. Personally, I think all that…


Following on from the realisation that my lungs are filthy and if I don't give up the smokes soon I face a life of wheezing at best, off I trotted to see the charming Dr T.

Dr T, who's charming by virtue of the fact that he's less jaded than the other doctors in the surgery (in other words, he treats patients as if they're human beings with a right to NHS services rather than annoying fraudsters trying to gain sympathy for imaginary illnesses) promptly put me on potentially habit-forming drugs to get me off the evil weed. Something doesn't feel quite right about this but since I'm so pathetically grateful to have a doctor who's willing to give me more than two seconds of his precious time, I have acquiesced to his demands.

Anyway, this wonder drug is called Champix and promises to have me merrily chucking my smokes in the bin in no time. Or it will if I can get past the possible side effects, the highlights being abnormal dreams, nausea, flatulence, snoring, …