Highly aggravated this morning.
The semi-new cleaner has gone AWOL. (I don’t actually know what that means, but I’m assuming it means missing. I don’t feel like googling. I enjoy the gamble. Fingers crossed.)
Her handler can’t find her.
Handler is trying to arrange another cleaner. No luck so far.
So the ex asked a friend if their cleaner was available. (We will really do anything to avoid cleaning)
If her cleaner is free I’m going to have to tell the other cleaner we’ve found someone else or softly softly phase her out.
Which fills me with guilt because the handler is really nice. (Never met her, text only – But I prefer that kind of relationship.)
The cleaner I could live without.
In the morning the ex is Dr. Jekyll under the sheets, and Hyde the minute we get out of bed.
There’s a lesson here somewhere, but I really can’t spend all day in bed.
So far, this morning, here is a compressed list of the various scoldings:
- Three and a half ants dared invade the kitchen. It must have been something I had done. Who else could it be? The ex could never bring in ants.
- The toothpaste tube is almost empty. Why didn’t I replace it?
- There is one plate in the sink. I need to clean it.
- The bedspread needs changing. I never change it.
- We make the bed. We squabble over covering the duvet.
- Who’s starting the washing machine? Why isn’t it me?
Numbers 1-4, I was willing to let slide. (Even though 1. was seriously idiotic. Promise. Swear. There were actually 3 ants.)
But by number 6. I felt like this:
Ready to gnaw off someones face.
I did a cat-hiss at the ex, but that was during the 1-4 ‘let it slide’ phase.
I do a good cat-hiss – It needs to come from the back of the throat to have real depth to it.
Once I sneaked up behind this cat in Bombay and let out my best cat-hiss. (I was an adult.) It leapt up nearly a foot in the air. Best one ever.
However I’ve written my post, crawled down off the ceiling, drunk my tea, the ex has gone off to the Motherland (Harrods this time, which never fails to lift the mood), we had a quick post-squabble cuddle, it’s a sunny sunday and I just might spend all day faffing about, pleasantly colour correcting my photos.
(Even though I need to study for this Life in the UK test which frankly, offends me. No UK resident could pass this. The hypocrisy of the UK BA is really something.)
I took the photo below at Angel tube. It’s a poster for one of those odious books where a serial killer does some stuff to a cute chick.
Ugh. I’m sick of those books. But the comment scrawled on the poster cracked me up.
An Occupy London protester clearly.