Friday Fight Night

Outside the flat. No, I wasn’t thrown out.

The ex came home slightly inebriated last friday night and we had an almighty row.

Can I just say how much I hate drunk people? All drunk people.

Even if they think they are so-called ‘good drunks’. (They don’t really exist anyway.)

I accused the ex of purposely stamping on my art kit thus breaking my paint palette.

(That sentence, I realize, reads a little insanely. Just humour me.)

The ex decided to vigorously deny my accusation by bringing out every single weapon in the relationship arsenal to annihilate me.

All torpedoes targeted, battalions ablaze, guns stations firing, death star at the ready.

This self-defence mechanism went off for about 20-25 mins.

The ex then stamped on more of my art materials, just to prove that it was ‘accidental’ the first time.

I wasn’t worried because art materials are surprisingly durable.

However I had no good rebuttals for any of the torpedoes.

I said ‘fuck off’ a bit, ‘shut up’ and that I definitely wasn’t leaving just because the ex was having a massive strop.

If I left every time the ex verbally abused me after a night out drinking, we’d never have lasted.

None the less, I am feeling pretty pissed this morning.

The first words out of my mouth were “fuck off”.

That is never a good way to start the day.

The cleaner noticed our quietness and was a little worried.

Poor cleaner. She’s terrified of our domestics.


We kissed and made up the next day.

I can’t keep up a sulk for over 48 hours. A sulk is very hard work I’ll have you know.

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