Busy Little Bee

Today, the Squeeze had the day off.

This was not about Leisure Suit Larry; this was about Kid 3 having the day off school and she obviously thinks the kid is retarded so can’t spend the day at home on his own.  Frankly, I should think he’d be doing a Tom Cruise in risky business. 

Although I’m fine with the whole day off/bonding exercise; it is never about relaxation and bonding.  It is generally about a list of things to do with the kid – generally items that she doesn’t want to pay for but hey, you’ve a Moodle on tap who is constantly guilt’ d into opening his wallet, why not use it...?

At least it was organised.  The witch, finally letting an idea hang in her head for a few seconds, may have finally understood that ‘on the fly’ means ‘out the window’, so if she is seeking us to do something for her, she had sure as hell better get in with a few days’ notice.

When the Squeeze picked him last night, he discovered the day off was due to “parent teacher” interviews.  WTF?  Hello!!! Here he is paying half of the damned school fees, all of the uniforms - but it isn’t mentioned.  This could be because she doesn’t want a discussion to ensue with staff re her constant lateness; but I suspect it is just plain, old unadulterated ‘spite’.

He was to drop the kid back at school so the witch could drag him home to the ‘hidden house that we don’t know they moved to’, but she wasn’t at school.  Must have been a lesbian convention in town some place; either way, she was indisposed which meant he had to drive all the way to velvet land, take the kid to cricket practice before dropping him back at the ‘hidden house that we don’t know they moved to’.

When we last spoke, he was going to be here at normal time so that we could do our nightly walk; somehow, I missed the memo that he was running errands for the witch.  

Instead, I came home and cleaned – which is its own exercise I guess.  Well it is if you count that by the time I vacuum, make the beds that they are too lazy to straighten, pick up the array of junk left over the house; hang out and bring in washing; wash the jam drips from the floor; tut tut over the dent in the floor boards where my antique platter hit the floor to smash into a million slithers last night and finally, sigh over the drips of jam on the carpet.

Sorry.  But I have lived here for 5.5 years.  Yes; I have white sofas.  But they’ve survived! They’ve survived my family!  My brother waking me at 6 am to say he went to sleep with a glass of red in his hand – and informing me that 5% of it… it missed.  It’s survived my sister, here… smashed (are you getting a theme here…?) and the terrified look on her face as she tried to mop up the 4 gallons of red wine from my white sofa – with a tissue.  It’s robust.  It’s seen it all.

And now – it is going black! (don’t these people shower!!!!!????)

So I deep breath and put the cushion covers in the wash and make a mental note to tell the Moodle that food in the bedroom is henceforth out (I nearly mentioned it when I saw the kid saunter into the bedroom [running for the big screen] with home-made jam tart… but figured oh hell, stop nagging…)

Still, I’m really trying to curb my tongue this week, albeit, not very successfully.  Hopefully, he went to the doctor this morning to get a referral to a nut doctor – not for relationship counselling, but to get it into his stupid head that he no longer has to do as she says!

I’m tipping that he wasn’t smart enough when he got to velvet land, to saunter around to the ‘hidden house that we don’t know they moved to’ to steal his tent back.  No.  That is what normal people would do.

Wonder if he remembered to go to the lawyer and sign he affidavit for tomorrow’s divorce…  If not, then I guess he is homeless…

Sometimes I forget why I am here...