So far today Thing 2 has asked me what the UK female equivalent size for a Chinese website’s men’s XXL, what it means when the website informs her that her order has been closed, and what;’s going to be for dinner in five hours time*. People keep asking me questions, in fact. Who didn’t put that dirty plate in the dishwasher? Where did this cup come from? Who left that here? Who does this toy/nail polish/empty wrapper belong to? What’s for pudding? How long till dinner? Is my grey hoodie washed yet? Where are my trousers? Have you got the stuff for my food tech lesson? Where is my bus?
I do not know the answers to many of these questions. Many are, in fact, rhetorical: my Beloved knows who left the plates there as that child has just left the room. We all know that dishwashers have been rendered invisible to teenagers, even when they have to walk past them to put the plate on the side (never the sink). It’s easy to see who the nail polish belongs to: it’s the child who has just sat next to you for two hours doing her nails.
Some of the questions are answerable only with other questions: did you put it in the laundry basket? Did you tell me about the food tech lesson? Have you checked the bus app? Where did you leave them?
Even now, mere seconds after my Beloved has walked through the front door, there comes a cry of ‘who’s left pasta on?’
Mostly I ignore them, as they do not require an answer, and shrieking ‘I DON’T CARE’, however tempting it might be, is not conducive to a peaceful existence. But it is true. I do not care. If the plate is bugging you that much, put it in the dishwasher or take it up with the offspring (there are three to choose from) who left it there. If you require something washed, it’s your responsibility to make sure it’s in the laundry basket, as I have enough washing to do without searching the house for more. Your trousers are almost certainly where you took them off, ditto your shoes, tie and blazer.
Here endeth the lesson. Now stop asking me stupid questions.
*cottage pie with cheesy mash, as it happens.
You may surmise from the above that my normally sunny outlook on life has been sorely tested this week by having to deal with:
- Printers which suddenly take against a document and will not print it. Perhaps it was the document, as I tried two computers and three printers before finally succeeding)
- Caffe Nero’s so-called ‘luxury’ hot chocolate (bring back the Milano, please)
- editing Zoom recordings (I can’t. I hope someone else can.)
- the Central Line, which has contrived to thwart my social life (OK, a coffee date with my bestie, but it counts, right?)
- Having to prove my human status repeatedly to various websites.
- The ironing, though I admit that that’s probably my own fault for leaving it to pile up for several weeks.
- Waking up at 4am every day thinking about all the things on my to-do list (lack of sleep may be adversely affecting my sunny disposition).
Not all my week was bad-tempered, obviously. Things making me happy this week include:
- The return of Christmas sandwiches to the supermarket meal deal
- Binging The Goldbergs on E4
- A very chilly swim at 6 degrees this morning
- A very productive jewellery making day
And now I am going for a nap.
Kirsty x
What I’ve been reading:
Attack and Decay – Andrew Cartmel (Audible)
Mort/Reaper Man – Terry Pratchett (Audible)
The Saki Megapack
Underground Overground – Andrew Martin
Walk the Lines – Mark Mason
The Master and Margarita – Mikhail Bulgakov
What Kirsty did next 