The Drooping Housewife

Pajama (Photo credit: Ramona.Forcella)

Apologies that I have not yet responded to your comments or visited your blogs.  I am what is technically known as ‘knackered’.  

Quite apart from the Christmas build-up and all the work involved, we have had a lot of (welcome) visitors, including on Christmas Eve and Boxing Day.

Tory Boy arrived late on Sunday night and left at seven this morning – the first time in about six years that he hasn’t worked Christmas Eve and Boxing Day.  I was afraid I would oversleep and miss saying goodbye so of course I woke up every hour and I feel like a zombie this morning.  I managed a couple of hours on the couch, when I fell asleep watching TV.

I have decided to take a pyjama day.  I promise to wash and brush my teeth so I don’t smell, but I’m not getting dressed.  I’m going to catch up on some TV and eat leftovers.

You are welcome to visit, but bring your dressing gown and slippers.

 

The Odd Couple

We have had almost non-stop rain for three days now, and for three days it has been difficult to walk the dogs.  My dogs love walks but hate rain.  They ran to greet the Hub at the front door the other day.  When I opened it, they hurtled out, then hurtled right back in again, like a cartoon character running off a cliff.

It rained and rained and rained and rained and rained yesterday, and was as tedious as this sentence.  By nine o’clock I was in my pyjamas because I knew there was no hope of a walk for them.  At ten, Molly, who doesn’t even like to go in the garden to do her business on dry days, was crossing her legs and hopping on the spot. 

I opened the back door to force her out and noticed it had stopped raining.  Such joy!  It was like the moment in Abergele the Hub told us we could give up camping. 

The Hub’s CFS/ME gives him temperature issues.  That’s how we found ourselves in the middle of the night in a November Stockport street: him in summer shorts and loose sweater; me in trainers and an ankle-length winter coat over my pyjamas, walking two frisky dogs.

The Hub shushed me as I said, ‘I’ve never been out at night in my pyjamas.’  ‘Shush!  Everyone will know you’re a Scouser.’  ‘I hope no-one sees us,’ I said, just as the packed 309 bus passed us, with every passenger on our side of the street doing a double-take.

Of course, the real issue is: how do you see a dog poo in the dark?