Separation, Desperation and a Broken Washer.
This weekend I am home alone.
Which is why when the washing machine decided to go on an unscheduled sabbatical to an ashram somewhere in the West Indies (or somewhere equally as laid back as it has clearly decided life in my kitchen is too stressful) I took matters in to my own hands and decided to call a man to get it fixed.
‘Hello? Is this A1 Fixing Stuff?’
‘My washer is broke can you come fix it please?’ (Furrowed brow at the lack of his professionalism.)
‘Yeah what’s your address?’ (Creepy scream voice followed by another yawn.)
I gave it to him. (Thinking I probably shouldn’t be, and yawned back.)
‘Are you home alone?’
‘Eh?’ (Concerned now.)
‘I mean, will you be home about 2? I will bring a colleague with me.’
At this point, as he began to sound like Dial a Danger, and I seriously began worrying that I had called 1-800 porno handy men, it was the way he said colleague, I instantly got visions of them turning up ‘We are here to fix your washer missis!’ wearing dungarees and carrying huge…. anyway, I changed my mind about letting him come (stop it) and decided not to get murdered while the Irish one was away.
‘You know what?’ I gushed kicking myself for divulging my address so freely ‘My husband who plays rugby and just got back from passing his black belt exam at kick boxing, just managed to fix it, thanks anyway!’
And I hung up, to the sound of his disgruntled goodbye’s before wondering why I thought it would be ok to invite a random ‘handy man’ off the internet, in to my home, to have a good nosy at the inside of my flat, while there is only me and my wobbly belly and no jujitsu training available here, just because he had advertised he was ‘handy.’
He may not have been a murderer (he wasn’t listed as one, I checked, although I am not sure murderers list themselves as murderers to be honest, as I would imagine if they did, they wouldn’t get much work) but I couldn’t take the chance.
I am too busy to be murdered this weekend.
And honestly think of the mess? I have only just mopped up the last crime scene. (Doodle. Need I say more? Would it be wrong to use a champagne cork to … never mind. I am pretty sure it would be, and the last thing I need as well as a murderer and a porn star on my door step is the RSPCA.)
So when I say home alone, I mean in the most obvious sense.
I will be completely alone, to behave as I please, to make decisions as I see fit, to run naked, wobbly and free in a meadow of long grass shouting ‘I’m free, I’m finally freeee!’ (If I so chose), while both the teething child that never lets go of my leg, and the Poodle with the leaky anal cyst, trail behind me wondering what time dinner will be served at, and at any point will we be considering leaving the house?
When I get hungry and No.
So not completely alone (for all you killers out there.)
But as alone as I am going to get at this juncture.
And I lied when I told the handy predator from A1 Fixing Stuff that I had a Husband. I don’t. I have an Irish One. But we aren’t married, choosing instead to live in sin for a couple of years while he decides if I am worth it or not.
(I ripped my arse open the day before your birthday and delivered you a healthy (ish) son for god sake!! What more does a girl have to do around here!!! Buy me a bloody ring! I don’t care how they do it where you are from, but where I am from, when a girl rips her bumhole open in the name of love, you buy her a new ring!! A new ring with diamonds on!!)
He is from Dublin, the Irish one, in case you were wondering, as I have been for the last 3 years, (I swear he said he was from Cork!) and has asked me to tell you that he would be more than happy to regale you with stories about the potato famine, about how his country have suffered at the hands of my country (Spain??) for trillions of years, and how amazing the floozy in the Jacuzzi is (not me on this occasion) anytime you want.
(May I suggest this as a viable solution to insomnia? It has worked wonders for me honestly, I had to call him every night from the mental institution due to the fact none of the anti psychotics they prescribed were nearly as effective as re-living the last 20 years of Irelands history again, so if you struggle to sleep, give him a call.)
*Just to be clear here, I am not and never will slate Ireland, or their history. I love the country and I adore the people, I just liken it to the first time I watched toy story and loved it, but by the millionth time, I was ready to rip my eyes out, take to my ears with a rusty knife and feed all four of them to the dog. The same rule applies here.
I have to admit though, as much as I will miss the romantic pillow talk I usually have to endure really enjoy about moldy potato’s and some bloke who signed a piece of paper that started a revolution a few decades ago (or something) and how to make Coddle (Boiled sausages, chicken cuppa soup, Oxo cube) I am actually really looking forward to this chance to do the lone living mum thing. (And have the remote all to myself for a full three nights!)
Even though I am not used to being home alone, so am a bit creeped out, Addison isn’t feeling very well so I will probably need some assistance in the night and we will be wearing the same clothes for the entire weekend due to the lack of my desire to be snuffed out, dowsed in hot oil and extinguished (or however ‘handy’ murderers do these things- I don’t know, it wasn’t listed) from not having the washer fixed and some random in Salford now knows where I live and that I am probably alone, and actually, (shit I really didn’t think this post through) now all you lot know that I am alone too, I am still going to try very hard to be carefree and enjoy the experience.
I am having pizza for tea. (Just in case you wanted to drop round. You may as well. You all know where I liiivvvveee (creepy scream voice.)
I am about to watch Drop dead diva and then I am going to have an early night ready for another full day of picking up, putting down, picking up, putting down ADDISON DECIDE WHAT YOU WANT FROM MUMMY!!! Doodle please clench those furry bum cheeks until mummy can open the back door, DOODLE NO!!! NOT ON THE RUG!! OH FOR THE LOVE OF… and maybe just maybe, if Addison is feeling well enough, I may be able to escape the house for a couple of hours and watch a good friend of mine get married.
Ahh another wedding.
Always a guest, never the bride…I wonder when it will be my turn…. She didn’t even have to tear her anus for her fiancée to propose, now that is real love.
Are you listing over there in Ireland?
What was that noise?
Oh my GOD, IS THAT A SPIDER?
IRISH ONE COME HOME!!! I want to know more about the potatoes… I don’t mind living in sin, honest!!!
‘Do you have a boyfriend?’
‘Yes who is this? I would rather have a husband to be honest but who is this? Why do you want to know?
‘Because I wanna know who I am looking at…’
ARGHHHHHHHHHH QUICK DOODLE POO ON THE MURDERER! POO ON THE MURDERER!