Tangled up. (And potential imprisonment.)
I am stood in the kitchen on my own, with the door firmly closed.
From behind the sound of the tap right beside me pounding perilously hot water in to the sink, a sink which I filled as clumsily and as clattery, battery and whackery as I possibly could, and have also squirted way to much washing liquid in to, I can hear the Irish one and the boy I like to call my son, singing along to Tangled in the living room.
The pair of them love that song and usually it gets rewound over and over again until I actually believe my head will explode with the sweetness and positively wretched purity of Mandy Moore’s voice.
I snuck my laptop in here during the part where Old mother Gotham (which I thought was the place where Batman lives, shows how much I know) was up to her nasty tricks of cutting hair and stealing the child she would now raise in a forgotten tower hidden within the dark depths of Who Cares.
The pair of them were sat on the sofa agog with the action happening on the 50 inch flat screen (although to be honest, you simply cannot help but be agog at anything happening on that wretched flat screen, it over powers the whole room and I hate it! ‘But we needed it’ apparently according to the Irish one and some battles I just can’t be arsed to fight) and I took this as my cue.
‘Just going to do the washing up darling and unpack some shopping from before…’ Most of it was already in the fridge, I am not a heathen, I just hadn’t got around to unpacking and putting away the boring stuff I bought, you know, like sponges and floor cleaner and dvd’s and toys for Addison and books and a new kettle and wine, lots and lots of wine. Which I have to be quite sneaky about, as he isn’t a big drinker and we don’t have much spare money to spend on lots and lots of wine at the moment but needs must.
So anyway I have ensured the kitchen is morphing in to a sauna on the off chance one of them wanders in here, looking for a drink or perhaps to offer some help with the de-sanitization of the kitchen (hahahahaha yeah right!) but mainly to give off the impression to both of them that Mummy is very busy being busy and if you come in you will have to help.
Hang on, I just need to bang a cupboard door and drop a pan for dramatic effect.
Ok. Where was i?
Right so here I am stood in the kitchen, (you know where I am now, right?) typing as quickly as I can in between shoveling handfuls of Walkers Peking Spare Rib taste sensations in to my mouth, and inhaling mouthfuls of white wine, in an attempt to disgard the evidence that will surely get me shot with something not very pleasant (stop being rude) if the Irish one finds out what happened today and how much I accidentally spent.
Thank goodness Addison cant talk yet is all I can say. (When I say he can’t talk, he can say some things, like ‘bugger’ and ‘bye bye plane’ and ‘oh dear’ and something that sounds suspiciously like ‘dickhead’ but could just as easily be, well ‘dickhead’ I suppose, but he isn’t able to form fluently articulate sentances yet so for now I am off the hook… and yes, I am aware I need to stop calling his daddy the afore mentioned genital head.)
Its ok, if you are wandering why I am telling you these things on here,if I don’t want him to know, thing is he says he reads my blog, but I know he doesn’t.
Really I just know he doesn’t, because if he did, I am sure he would have something to say about my last post where I admitted to the world (all 123 of you) that he doesn’t get much sex and spends a lot of time in tatty boxers, so it is all good in the hood. Honest.
Basically, I think there may be something wrong with me!
(Other than you know, the obvious!!)
I think literally my brain is having some sort of delayed ‘turning to mush’ flip out.
My big boss, as in he is senior not giant like, asked me last week if my brain had turned to mush while I had been off. My face must have said it all because he immediately retracted the statement with ‘you know, did it go slow?’ cue further intensifying of disbelief on my features, followed by ‘sorry, I mean it in a nice way though fnar fnar fnar.’
I was a little bit outraged at the time (a little bit outraged is when your eyebrows fly up and you heavily sigh but cant really be arsed to take it further cos a little part of you thinks he may be right) but now? Yeah.
Ill go on.
So basically, I have had the same pin number on my Natwest Maestro purple cash card for years, decades maybe.
I have lost the card countless times but the pin never changes.
(Are you following ok so far? I think I’m getting a bit drunk.)
So anyway, after losing the card again 3 days ago (SHHHHH don’t tell his highness) I ordered a new one and it arrived (bit boring that bit I know) yesterday, but this is where it gets interesting I promise, today when a coughing, wheezing and moaning (that was me) and a perfectly behaved but actually poorly Addison and I ventured to Asda (I just tapped my bum) I had a shopping trolley full to the brim (I only went in for milk and chicken how the hell does that happen?) disaster struck.
Twas a catastrophe!
I came to pay, got my card out of my bag (after fingering all manner of dummies, sticky pound coins covered in mulch raisin, dummies covered in grit, a ring I have been looking for, for a month, 3 grotesquely mucky asthma inhalers and my pristine Starbucks member ship card) slotted it in to the pin machine, and. My. Mind. Went. Completely. blank!
Like, I totally could not remember the pin. (Yes I am defo getting drunk now, when I start to sound like an American sorority girl, like totally, I know I have like drank way to much dude. Still this is all in the name of preserving my sanity! Or something.)
How the hell does that happen?
Like it has totally gone, I have no idea what it was!! But I have used it nearly everyday for ages.
So while I was stood at the till with 8 million angry, frustrated, fussy, impatient, hot and bothered looking trolls stood behind me having a total brain melt, I will be honest, I did the only thing any self respecting woman and mother in this scenario would do.
I pulled out his credit card, which I had ‘borrowed’ a while back, and used that instead.
Funny how I remember his numbers isn’t it? (Which is what he will shout at me when he finds out!!!)
I spent waaaay more than I should have done.
I spent waaaay more than I needed to.
And I spent it all on his card!!!
It was bad enough when I was putting it on my own, but oh god! What am I going to do? How will I explain that I needed the emergency mascara and Addison needed Noddy and Kung Fu panda 2 and how the hell will I explain why we are now unable to pay for electricity this month??
Mascara is way more important than electricity, everybody knows that. You all know that right? RIGHT?
But I just do not think he will agree and how will I explain I can’t remember those blasted numbers?
He will think a) that I am a bumbling moron (which may or may not be true at this point) and b) that I am unworthy of the wine he bought for me. (He just doesn’t know he bought it for me yet… and it’s now a bit late for that as bottle 1 is nearly finished.)
Maybe it is 9034, or 8297, or 1023, or 7030.
You know the most alarming thing to come out of today though?
Obviously other than amnesia, theft and fraud?
The woman at the till saw the card was engraved Mr. Irish One Doyle, and made the briefest of eye contact with me while she deliberated over whether to question if it was in fact my card or not.
She didn’t question it in the end though, which leads me to believe one of two things,
Either she is as fraudulent as I am, or it really is time to wax my Mustache.
‘YES DARLING! Nearly finished!!!!’ (The wine.) ‘I’ll be out in a second, and I have a special surprise for you!!!’
It’s the unpaid gas bill to match the lovely red electricity bill.
And that Tangled song? Here is my version.
”5 AM, the usual morning lineup:
Start with Woo’s bum and weep till the poo’s all clean,
Wax my tash, do laundry, mop the dogs puke up,
Sweep again, and by then it’s like 5.15.
And so we will read a book,
Or maybe remove our nappy and do a wee,
I painted on the wall, aren’t I good mum-my?
He’ll chase Doodle around with a great big stick,
While I wonder when will my prison sentence begin?
Then after lunch it’s puzzles and darts and chasing,
Paper mache, a bit of yoghurt spray and getting undressed,
Brain melt and climbing, Puppy shaking,
Then he’ll stretch, maybe belch, wipe his snot,
On my dress!
And I’ll reread the books
That gina ford did write,
He’ll paint the walls some more,
while I sweat and try not to swear,
And then he’ll brush and crush,
and put sticky stuff in my hair,
but I’m Thrilled to be in the same place I’ve always been.
And I’ll keep wonderin’ and wonderin’
And wonderin’ and hopin,
When will I afford a Nan-nnnyyyy?
And tomorrow night,
Lights will appear
Just like they do on when I steal credit cards every year..
What is it like
Out there where they glow?
Now that I’m older,
The police might not let me go …”
Shit!!! I forgot to turn the sink tap off!!!