Jul 16, 2019: Prime

I’ve spent today, in and amongst sorting out the wiring behind the TV, hanging around and trying to make the most of the Amazon Prime Day deals.

I was, for the first time ever (I think) only interested in the board games, so any that took my fancy I would put a watch on them and then hop back on when the deal started (via a series of unlabelled alarms) to snaffle up a discount bit of fun.

Which, I think I realise now, is an amateur move.

I missed out on a couple of things I really wanted because I was too slow. And by too slow I mean, it took me a couple of minutes to get from the alarm to the internet.

And boom, what I wanted was gone.

Some other stuff I magnificently netted and am happy with the haul, but the couple of things that slipped through my fingers would have really sweetened the deal. And kept us going at board game night for a good few weeks, I think.

Although, having said that, Daniel is coming for a visit on Saturday night – via a quick run through one of the rooms at work – so we’ll hopefully get a chance to play through some of the things at the weekend. And probably lose because, you know, it’s me.

Because as it stands at the minute we’re not hitting board game Thursday this week – Carole’s otherwise engaged, Nik’s not around and Addy and Joe are deserting us to go and play terrifying escape rooms in Derby. Which leaves just me. And I don’t fancy trying to make new friends and squeeze in on a game. So I’ll just stay at home and play some solo stuff. Unloved and unwanted.

Or pretend I’m two people so I can learn all the cool strats to beat Daniel on Saturday, and then everyone else on Thursday.

Actually, that sounds like a plan…

But still, Bunny Kingdom would have been nice to get my hands on. Damn you swift moving Amazonians…

Jul 15, 2019: Wounds

I’ve woken up this morning with strange wounds on my stomach area.

It looks like, basically, I have been attacked by someone wielding the dreaded twelve-needles thing that they use to test your resistance before whatever jab it is that you get at school with “needles so big they go right through your arm”.

If I was a crazy person, I could have woken up and thought I had been abducted by some sort of higher being who has performed tests on me. But I know that any bright lights similar to being beamed up while in bed come from Carole’s new sports watch which illuminates occasionally as she sleeps because what’s better than the brightness of a flashbang grenade rousing you from your slumber?

It’s not that though.

The wounds come from Peppa’s fear of a packet of Monster Munch which I might have mentioned yesterday. I daren’t look to see the damage she’s done to the inside of my left thigh/periphery of my left testicle as it may be too upsetting. Especially as that hurt a lot more than the stomach wound, and the stomach wound is quite dramatic looking.

And neat.

I’ll say that about cats. They’re neat.

When they’re not cleaning themselves constantly, or sleeping, they’re injuring their humans in parallel lines of equidistant wound tracts.

I’m quite impressed. As well as, you know, physically scared for life.

Or at least for a couple of days.

Jul 14, 2019: Vet

Peppa is too bloody clever for her own good.

Annoyingly so.

We’ve known for a while that she’s quite a smart cookie. She worked out opening the one-way cat flap while she was still a kitten. And she’s more than aware of the sound that her flea treatment packet makes, and scarpers if she hears it.

Today we learnt that she knows the sound of her cat carrier and will run away if she hears it. And that she knows the sight of it too, with much the same results.

But if you cover it in a sheet she’ll go in and out of it quite happily. So she is fallible. Unfortunately, it’s stupidly hard to get her secured in the box while it’s hidden, so you have to uncover it which means she sees it and is then under the bed hiding.

The plus side of all this is that we only have to take her to the vets once a year. The downside is she’s grumpy when she gets there. And, for the first time that I know of, she had to be held down by a nurse wearing gloves that even professional eagle botherers would say were a bit excessive.

I was so ashamed. Normally I’m pretty good at holding her in place while she’s jabbed. But today she bested me, literally seconds before I was about to say “Ah, putting me veterinary work experience to good use”. So in a way she saved me from looking like a complete bellend. But in another way, she showed me up no end.

And then, as if to get revenge, later this afternoon she thought Carole was going to throw a bag of crisps at her and so leapt from where she was in a blur of claws and fur. Unfortunately, where she was was directly over my groin.

I did not enjoy that experience.

Jul 13, 2019; Tissue

One of the things I love about Carole is her love of tissues.

Or, more correctly, her love of stuffing tissues all over the place. Down the side of the couch, in the door panels of the car, under pillows, up sleeves, in pockets, in bags, out of bags… anywhere.

And one of the things I love about me is that I never check her pockets for tissues when I put her work trousers in the wash. I don’t need to check them for money because she never carries cash with her – much like the Queen – and also because any money she does have she leaves in small piles around the house. Like a rubbish dragon, guarding a pile of treasure.

Now, I don’t know what tissues I encountered today, but I got very lucky. There’s nothing worse than opening the washing machine door to find the insides looking like a snow globe, bits of shredded tissue everywhere.

Today was not like that. There was a tissue wet and balled up, near the door or the washer.

I removed it, praising the washing machine gods as I did so for their kindness in maintaining the structural integrity of said item.

I threw it away.

I know I threw it away. Into a bag it went.

Imagine my surprise, then, when in the basket I discover – as I am hanging up the washing – another tissue. Again, I throw it away and whisper a silent thanks to the gods because I was really upping the ante in this wash.

And then there was another one.

Three.

She only has two pockets.

I know I should have checked them, but I can’t help thinking that the universe was really conspiring against me with this one.

But I am still thankful they all stayed intact. My mind can only begin to imagine the absolute nightmare that three destroyed tissues in a wash could bring. Shaking small bits of paper out of clothes for months to come.

This is my life now.

Being an adult, thinking of the consequences of shoddy tissue management.

I hate responsibilities.

Jul 12, 2019: Primer

I thought I’d surprise Carole today by priming the door we’re currently working on. She wouldn’t expect it, in the slightest, because I fricking hate painting.

I thought about doing it yesterday but opted, instead, to do ironing. Which I hate less.

So I did it this afternoon when I got in from work. I just figured if I got it done as soon as I got in then it was over and done with, job’s a good ‘un and all that.

And it was. And I did. And all is good with the world.

Haha, I thought. I won’t mention it and it will be a surprise.

Then Carole text something about wanting to wash the door down ready for painting and I went ahead and said I’d already done it, and done the first coat. I ruined the surprise myself. Within seconds of deciding I would leave it as a surprise. I could have responded to her text by saying, “ok.” Or something similar. But no, instead I go ahead and spoil what was, in many ways, my whole reason for doing it.

Like a fool.

But it’s okay, though. Because Carole then ruined it a little bit further.

She sent me, first, a string of emojis – love hearts, smiley faces and doors. Because when else are you going to use the door emojis? She really seemed to appreciate what I had done. I felt warm and fuzzy inside. It was nice.

And just as I was enjoying that wave, she sent a follow-up text which read,

“Undercoat, yeah?”

As though I wouldn’t have known to do that. As though I am so distanced from the concept of painting that I wouldn’t think to do undercoat first.

I realise this reads as though I really fucked up and did the paint without any undercoat. But I didn’t. Sorry.

I just find it insulting that she had to check that was what I had done. I mean, honestly.

What sort of a fool does she think I am?