I’m SO cold that I’m actually struggling to type this morning. I hate being cold, it makes me really grumpy. My nails have gone blue and my nose is red. Oh no, I’m not expecting any sympathy, Hubby and I let the bloody heating oil run out. In our defence, we’re used to gas central heating, which takes no more maintenance than an ability to pay the bill at the end of the month. All this putting your wellies on, squelching across the garden, hopping up on to the concrete ledge bit, undoing the lid and peering into the stinky gloom to see how much oil there is left is, frankly, beyond us. I’ve spent a large portion of this morning swearing a lot and standing under the shower trying to get warm. It did work but when I finally got out you could have picked the icicles off me. Nasty.
Last night was okay because we had a big roaring fire going in the unfeasibly expensive new fireplace. Hubby had a mate round and while they talked about man stuff (I try to join in but then there’s just this high pitched whistle while I watch their lips move) I spent a very contented half hour or so snuggled up in front of the flames with a nice glass of Hardy’s talking to J on the phone about all sorts of stuff, but mostly about why men take us for granted (yes, I know, another bloke vs woman thing). It’s true, though. J mentioned to C that a chap at work had asked her out. ‘Ha’, replied C, ‘he’s welcome to you’. No, no, no. You see, this is entirely the wrong response (just for future reference, C). The correct answer should not have been accompanied by any snorting laughter and should have been more along the lines of ‘what?’ (in suitably horrified tone of voice) ‘Another man interested in my darling? Well you can tell him you’re well and truly taken with a man who loves you with a fierce passion and who would fight to the death for you’. This reminded me of the incident when that Garda gave me his telephone number and Hubby nearly wet himself laughing. Not exactly the most flattering of responses, especially when you know how much time men actually spend checking out other women. 73 Man calls it the ‘male public gaze’, although maintains that sometimes it’s actually involuntary. You know the thing, when they surreptitiously (or not) check out the view as a fit girl walks past them in the street. It’s kind of like the subtler version of the ol’ builders-on-a-scaffold wolf whistle.
Anyhoo, Hubby’s (single) mate, J, heard me telling my J that I could walk around butt naked all day and Hubby wouldn’t even notice. He thought this was very funny and said ‘that’s why I’m never getting married’. ‘Ah’, says I, sagely, ‘but at least I don’t have to do all that excruciating dating stuff any more, and I do still get lucky occasionally’. Oops, too much information.
Comment by elly parker — October 18, 2007 @ 2:06 pm
Comment by 73man — October 19, 2007 @ 9:37 am
73: Dash it all to hell when your principles don’t come back and bite you on the arse!
Comment by englishmuminireland — October 19, 2007 @ 10:53 am
So I’m still convinced that the fact that Irish call the period between November and February a winter must be some kind of a clever joke I still haven’t worked out.
What gets me is the dampness. You have a heating off for a day and it penetrates your bones. Brrrr!
I’m pretty sure your hubby WOULD notice if you’ll take on walking around butt naked. He just wouldn’t know how to deal with it. So he’ll ignore it. Another male trait, btw!
Comment by Foreigner — October 19, 2007 @ 10:57 am
Mr isitjustme? loves being married too and probably for similar reasons to Mr EM…its funny.
Comment by Isitjustme? — October 19, 2007 @ 11:36 am
Isit: OOh yes, I could have kissed the oil man (I refrained, though). Bet Mr Isit would notice you in the nud though
Comment by englishmuminireland — October 19, 2007 @ 3:06 pm
Comment by flirty — October 19, 2007 @ 8:56 pm
C has confessed undying love. And all I had to do was read him your blog. Not a Superwondertechnobra in sight. Yay!!
As for the cold… there ARE other ways of keeping warm than ’spensive oil and wooly jumpers, Missus.
Off to Confession… Mwah!
Comment by Jennynib — October 20, 2007 @ 12:26 am
Comment by Isitjustme? — October 20, 2007 @ 11:03 am
J: Aw he loves you to bits, I know that because he calls you Fatty in a very sweet and not at all insulting way :0)
Isit: Great idea - in fact, my arse is so wide I could get ‘The Barclays Premier League’ tattooed across mine!
Comment by englishmuminireland — October 20, 2007 @ 3:23 pm