Thursday, 23 June 2005

husband torture

The plumbers have not returned. I feel used. I felt we could have been so happy together. It may be that I am prematurely announcing the death of our relationship and Plumber Time is similar to Boy Time. But I have my doubts. I think it might be over.

So I am amusing myself by spending my some of my regular evening phone call with B by telling him all about how nice our new lodger is. B is showing an unusual amount of testosterone in his replies:

Me: So Polish Lodger seems like a really nice chap. Very young, of course.
B: Oh?
Me: Yes, some of the WI thought he was quite attractive when they met him the other night. Dani and I think he's okay - but a bit young.
B: What does he look like then?
Me: Oh, he's quite short. He's got dreadlocks. And very smooth skin. He's got lovely manners. He comes and tells me when he's going out.
B: I'm pleased he seems okay.
Me: I lent him your bike yesterday - he'd got a new job and was late for work. He borrowed it at the weekend, too, and cycled out to the coast.
B: My bike! He should get his own bike! He'll be wearing my tyres out!
Me: [silently] Yes! Score!
I had a whole moment where I could visualise B going through a rapid but unacknowledged mental process something like:
"He's riding my bike! Is he wearing my slippers as well?! Is he getting his feet under the table while I'm away?!"
B is back tomorrow. I am very happy; it's been a long three weeks.

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