I knew it already, but I have definitely married a true and honest pervert. I was down town this morning to meet up with Abbie and Ben, and then to get something from the shops. As I’m sitting there, my phone goes off and I whip it out, and there’s this really NSFW message from Mark. Of course, everyone sees it, and Abbie just rolled his eyes at me. My mate knows me, he does.
Sometimes it gets to the point where I have to swat away a cat, one of the dogs, and the husband who creeps toward me on all fours in the sofa. Like today. They give me no rest when I’m just trying to read a book in peace and quiet with my mug of tea. I’m not sure what is worse: the cat biting my toes for attention, the dog sticking his wet snout into my ear, or Mark giving me this hooker stare over the sofa pillows.
If unwanted attention of that sort wasn’t enough, I have a foot of research to go through in the study upstairs, but I want to read this weekend. I don’t want to think about school, or professors, or anyone. After the last week’s pendulum between being the ‘good well behaved son’ and the tests, I just want to lay here in this sofa with a book and some tea. The world can go hang; I have a mystery to read.
The only break from that is dinner, and Mark has been in an experimental mood lately. The diet has swung from Mexican tortillas to Italian. I almost joke-complained and told him to make English food for once. But what would that be? Fish and chips? It’s not like we have a very exiting cuisine, is it? Except he makes a really decent Shepherd’s pie. His mother’s recipe.
Auntie was over to raid my wine stock. She had forgotten to buy wine when she went to shop groceries, and she’s having some friends over for dinner, and needed wine. Since, apparently, she trusts my taste in wine, she just waltzed in and confiscated four of my bottles. I don’t know what that says about us when I supply my former legal guardian with booze and wine. “I’ll replace them, luv. Just need these right away”, she says, as if she’s a heavy alcoholic that must have a little something right away.
At least, she didn’t uncork them in the hallway for a tipple, but disappeared as fast as she arrived, with a vague promise that she’d return on Monday with replacements. And now I still have my mystery to read, but instead I sit here with tea to my left, the book to my right, a dog up my ear and a cat on my toe. Alas, no creepy Mark. Damn.
But life could be worse, eh?