Monday, July 30, 2012

Dear Husband

I know you were tired and stressed at the time but when you say, "I am not good at it." and "I don't have time.", you mean "It is not important to me." and "I don't want to have to learn to do that."

It is not as though it is a surprise.  I spoke to you a week ago and it is still several weeks off.  Perhaps you thought I would forget or just do it myself. 

If you can get out of it for a few more years one of our children may be able to do it, or maybe next year I will be able to afford to go interstate so my parents can do it and you can feel sad to have missed the event, as has happened in the last few years.

You could throw some money at the problem but we both know that is unlikely to work out.

 I would just like a nice birthday cake.  It makes me sad that it is too much to ask.

Your wife

Day three and run out of things to say

Poop.  This blogging lurk may well be trickier that I thought.

I was thinking about Mrs Woog's post "50 shades of Woog" and the seduction technique of people you have lived with for a long time.  It is a tricky business and one that most couples have some handle on after the first decade, assuming they have not given it up entirely.

In the instance delicately drawn by Mrs Woog, the manner of asking presupposes the negative.

While I am not denigrating the mutual coincidence of wants that  is the essence of the quickie, most women like a bit of time to warm up to the idea.  We are not talking dinner and a bottle of French champagne here.  Something along the lines of "dinner was delicious.  If I put the kids to bed then wash up, would you like to go to bed early?" would suffice, especially if accompanied by a suggestive smile. 

In my own case, the husbandal unit likes to make some preliminary advances to test the friendliness of the opposition territory.  This might, hypothetically, include biting me on the back of the neck while I am ordering small goods at the deli.  If, in such a instance, I was to rocket up into the air and hit the ceiling, he would take that as a clue that the game was afoot. 

Alternately, and sadly this just may be me, there is a lot to be said for that wonderful line, "I've just cleaned the toilet."

Did you know that some newborns sleep so soundly you can jackhammer against their bedroom wall and they don't wake?

Saturday, July 28, 2012

It is Saturday, you silly template

Imagine my horror to realise that the timestamp thinks it is still Friday, when I am ensconced on the other side of the date line and we are well into Saturday, thank you very much.

More menu cruising to find the dating function ... [tuneless humming] ... aha!

That's fixed its little red wagon.

Sunny but icy

Well, in a surprising binge of efficiency, here I am writing a second post.

Frustration is the topic of the day.  As a woman who is counting down the remaining ovulations of her life, having a husband who is, frankly, napping at this crucial time is exasperating.  With forethought, I could have considered a much younger specimen.  Though given my dubious level of attraction, he would have had to have fairly odd taste.  Then there is the problems inherent with reproducing the species with someone who may not have the maturity to stick it out through the tantrum years (I'll let you know when they stop).

There are definite advantages in living with someone who has a opinion on whether Cousin Itt and Thing were both from the Adamms or Munster families.  ("Who are they?" ask the children.) 

Further, from the disinterested vantage of my 40s, I would not like to have to start listening to [insert name of musician from last decade here].  Eighties pop music was generally pretty crap and I would be surprised if there has been any improvements since then.  I slander the eighties, you say?  I provide the following proof - the master work of Haysi Fantayzee:
I feel fine
No it ain't no crime.
I was dreamin' of a demon and I ate a dime.
The dime floats
The colonel boasts -
Send 'em up the hill boys, this ain't no joke

No chance - no chance - no chance - no chance.
Shiny shiny bad times behind me
Oh, well, no point in speculating.  I will live with the chosen goof-ball and take what comes.

Strawberry jam fantastic, cumquat marmalade nasty and bitter

Friday, July 27, 2012

 Ah, a rainy friday

In my inaugural post I find myself tempted to tell you about the wetness of the day and the towels on the line.  Surely blogging must have some purpose beyond the purely mundane?  Ha ha ha haha ha (tailing off to quiet hysteria).

Why am I blogging?  My friend Miss Grasshopper blogs for her family and friends; handy, given they spread over most continents.

Miss Grasshopper asked me if I had a particular theme or group of topics I wanted to canvass.  I am not sure if I know the answer.  My brain has turned to sludge in the last year under the weight of too many preschool constructions and notes home about lice infestations.  Combine this with a lack of pressure to undertake anything intellectual and the result is a brain resembling sago (and we are not talking cooked with squid ink and deep fried).

Essentially, the reason I decided to blog, aside from a fine suggestion from Miss Grasshopper, was the excellent work done by Mrs Woog at Woogsworld. 

And frankly, the discipline and learning curve will help with incipient vagueness.