Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Reason For Justifiable Homicide ( # 1)
I am beginning to wonder if hubby hasn't in actual fact left home, he just hasn't plucked up the courage to tell me yet. After arriving back late on Friday night, he flew straight back out to London on Saturday morning. Back late again in the evening, he left early on Sunday, apparently to Dubai for the next two weeks.
Nice work if you can get it, huh?
At least I can't complain he's getting under my feet, eh? Still, as he tries to put me under an internet curfew when he's home, (emphasis on try) even being brave enough to hide my laptop upon occassion, I guess it all levels out. The only problem with not having him around is that, in his absence, I find myself picking up the slack as chauffeur to the multitude. Although it's less than a two mile run into town, we don't live near any public transport, and teenagers have this really annoying habit of having friends.
So it was, a few weeks back I found myself ferrying my two eldest kids (plus mates), to a disco (I'm sure that's not what they might term it, but before my slide into decrepitude, it's what I used to call it). .
Neither my eldest son, nor my eldest daughter had realised they would be sharing a ride. This is on account that they usually avoid attending any social gatherings together like the plague. Matt likes to play big bruv' and cramp her style, she likes to get even by telling his potential date of the night that he's already taken - you get the picture. So naturally, they were mortified to discover they had both purchased tickets to attend the same venue. Add their friends in to the mix, all of whom found it hysterical, you can imagine I was pretty darn relieved to finally dispatch them all off on to the pavement until the appointed collection time. Matt slammed off in a huff, rattling the door behind him. Not that I heard it, I'd earlier cranked the volume up full to "Beck" in hopes of drowning out the bickering.
You would not believe what an odious, sanctimonious, jumped-up excuse for a jobs-worth, aspiring Hitler that I then had the sad misfortune not to squash flat beneath the tread of my wheels! Blooming, power hungry, would be dungeon keeper. what the hell was his problem?? Jeeeesus. Give them a fluorescent jacket, they rule the world. No, he wasn't a policeman, he was a car parking attendant. Not that I was in a car park mind, I'm double parked on the busy promenade, trying hard to pull out between any let up in the crowd. It's a Saturday night and the place is jumping.
As Matt got out of the car, apparently our door knocked against a parked car. I didn't see this, but as I went to pull away, this little streak of vomit masquerading as a human robot stepped out in front of me and pulled me over. Yes, still being a good girl and respecting (even dubious) authority, I recognised his vest and didn't mow him down. (Little shit must be made of rubber, countless others before me must have done.)
He pointed out my error. I was polite, I pulled up, got out (in my bare feet and thin t-shirt in the dark, freezing night) and went to examine the other car. There was not a mark on it. I went back and informed him.
"You still should leave your number."
"Why? There's no mark there."
"Still, the decent thing to do."
"Come and look."
"Not for me to judge."
"It's dark, there might be a mark in the morning,"
"Fine, give me a pen."
"Don't have one."
"Neither do I."
"Try one of those Pubs -"
"I'M IN MY BARE FEET, THERE IS NO MARK ON THE SODDING CAR, IF YOU CARE TO LOOK YOU WILL SEE."
"Decent thing to do."
I should go on to repeat all of the above several times over to give you the flavour of our repartee (adding in, the more adgited I am, the more my arms take on a life of their own, so now pointing, shrugging and flinging my elbows about in every which way, we are drawing a wee bit of crowd).
Deciding to appeal to my jury, I toss out, "Does anyone have a pen here??"
Finally, feet frozen, I give up, and uttering the best witty, sure to be nominated as the most original put-down line ever, I tell him, " Go to hell!" (Gimme' a break, let's see you invent something better sporting a set of frost-bitten nipples).
I got back in the car and drove off to see the slimy prime example of a syphilitic birth taking my number down WITH A PEN.
Should have reversed (would surely have been the decent thing to do).