Bikeless In Stockport

Yesterday’s hysteria was a waste of time: the bike was too big for me.  The woman who had it before must have been a giant because the seat was at my armpits.  It was an old leather seat, circa 1940, like the rest of the bike.  I joked about being Almira Gulch yesterday, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it was an original prop from The Wizard of Oz.  I’m disappointed: now I’ll never be more independent and less fat; I’ll be less dependent and more fat, and the Hub will be stuck forever ferrying around a blob and never get well.

I would have been quite happy to ride an antique around Stockport; it wouldn’t have been stolen, for one thing.  I don’t think it would have been much use for carrying three huge bags of wet washing, though.  I found out that the lottery winners use the same launderette and they are nice people, so I’m glad it went to someone who deserves it.  They haven’t been in the launderette since their win – I expect they can afford a tumble dryer now and – more to the point – the electricity to run it.

If they’ve got any sense they’ll move out of the area.  My house was egged on Sunday, for no reason that we can fathom.  Unless, like Everest, it’s just because we’re there.  Or those lottery winners are RSVP-ing my several hundred begging letters.

The Hub often begs me for things – please stop talking/pestering/breathing – so I like to torment him as punishment. [To get the joke of the next bit you have to know that we have about a thousand cups in our cupboard; I never break them.  It’s a gift.]

He complained the other day that everyone except him seems to be given their tea in his Manchester City mug, so I washed it after every use (instead of putting it in the dishwasher; I’m lazy, not dirty) and served every drink in it.  He outsmarted me though: he noticed after the third time but didn’t mention it for days because he’s glad to have his mug for every drink.  Maybe I should punish him by washing it after the next use and serving all of my drinks in it.  Annoying their husbands is what Tilly Buds do best…it’s such fun!  Plus, it keeps the marriage alive: he won’t know I’m here if I’m not sticking pins in him, will he?  Or am I thinking of my voodoo doll?