I am currently typing this post, while at work, in my email client, so from a distance it looks like I’m typing a work email.
This is highly dangerous. I think I might stop and pick up later. So technically I’ve only written 2 lines while at work.
I’m such a chicken. I really have no stones.
I can’t even type a fake email at work for fear of getting caught.
I can’t imagine how people ever have sex in public places.
I have received frequent accusations that I only portray the ex in an unflattering light. (I’ve also been accused of being a massive biyatch. – Can’t deny that.)
To be fair I hardly portray myself in a flattering light, and the very nature of blogging means that’s any views expressed are bound to be biased.
I have suggested the ex gets a blog to combat this. We could be an amazing double act, but the ex is too busy being successful and shit. Well, I can’t help that.
Why don’t I write about the nice things, the ex asks me? (and I might add, that there are a great many nice things to write about)
The reason is that I find ‘nice’ blogs very tedious. You know, ones that talk about how happy they are, how grand everything is, how wonderful life is for them, blah blah blah.
What about when the shit hits the fan? What then? That’s what I want to read.
I enjoy reading about problems, issues and crisis and other small intimate, pointless things.
So thats why I don’t write about the good things. They are good. That’s nice. No one cares.
Penelope trunk, is one of my favorites. She’s prolific, has Aspergers and famously tweeted about having a miscarriage while seated in a board meeting.
The only semi ‘nice’ blog I enjoy is one called Pioneer Woman – she never writes about the bad things, but that’s compensated by her upbeat writing style, stunning photography and the projection of a lifestyle that seems almost utopian. (She gave up a city job and married a farmer and now lives in the middle of nowhere herding horses. The ex hates her.)
The ex has now commanded me, by imperial dictate, that I must write a list of nice things.
A summons that cannot be refused.
So I promised the ex that I’d make a top 10 ‘credit’ list (perhaps I should have posted this on Valentines Day or something, but that would really be unbearable).
To which the ex responded,
“Top Ten?! It should be a never-ending list!!”
The first thing on the list would be that the ex benevolently tolerances my venting on this silly blog.
I bow, I bow in gratitude.
Genuinely. It takes a great deal of tolerance to allow your partner you write about you.
The ex is very forgiving of absent-mindedness.
For example: The ex tells me
“I have left an egg on the kitchen table, please be careful.”
I nod. Nod nod.
Five minutes later I accidentally jolt the table, the eggs rolls off the table and cracks on the floor.
The ex sighs in exasperation.
But what can you do with such an imbecile like me?
Every time the ex leaves town for a day or two I eat poorly, (If at all. I’m that lazy sometimes I can’t even be bothered to eat) sleep way too late and wake up extremely cranky.
Nothing gets done and I shift almost immediately into sad bachelor mode.
I am glad the ex keeps me sane and healthy.
If the ex didn’t kick me out of bed every morning I’d never get up.
The ex very gently and patiently says in the morning,
“Baby, get up.”
“Ok, ok. 5 mins, 5 mins.”
10 mins later I get a little kick,
“Baby, go now.”
“Ok!… Just 5 more minutes…”
This continues until I am threatened in various ways, then I finally get up.
Ex is good cook.
The ex made me a four egg omelette because I begged and groveled and pleaded, even though I was warned that it would probably make me feel sick.
“No, no of course it won’t. I can easily eat 4 eggs! Hah! Easy”
Of course, I felt pretty sick afterwards. 4 eggs is a lot of eggs.
I’m so over my eggs phase.
Right now the ex is listening to Adele and making butter chicken. Proper Ghar ka Khana.
I hate housework. The ex has to tolerate my lax standard of cleaning.
Well the ex says its lax, I describe it as laid back. I mean, it’s not a show home.
Initially this caused squabbles. Then the ex took initiative and got a cleaner.
I love the cleaner.
She asks too many questions though. Annoying questions.
The ex lets me listen to music while we are commuting together.
This is very important. I’d hate to be one of those couples that ‘aren’t allowed’ to listen to music while commuting together.
That’s the best time to listen to a new song on repeat for a couple of hours.
Organising holidays. I loathe googling for good holiday deals.
The ex does this just as a hobby.
This is why we got an amazing deal for a trip to Gambia.
The ex has actually agreed to put up one or two of my drawings.
On an actual wall. In frames and everything.
Proper professional like.
This was an unexpected surprise since the ex has often asked me, remorsefully,
The ex doesn’t particularly approve of my brand of in-your-face illustration.
Lastly and not least, the ex is buying me Barbara Cartlands for my birthday. (yes yes I whined about this, but that doesn’t mean I’m not happy about it. Whining and happiness are not mutually exclusive, at least for me.)
I am very excited, also it’s a huge deal that the ex is supportive of my ‘habit‘.
The ex personally sees no uses or pleasure in books.
I had to explain that how the ex felt about horses was how I felt about books.
A thriving book shelf makes me feel a warm comfy glow of satisfaction.
I haven’t mentioned sex, but that’s definitely on the list. Let’s assume it’s a given.
So done. There. My top ten.
God that was so hard.
I’m going to go back to being a bitch after this.