Arrived home safely last night, after a somewhat turbulent flight. This was preceded by an exceedingly turbulent taxi ride to Sydney airport. I hadn’t previously known that turbulence affected road vehicles, but there you go.
I was collected by an adoring – by which I mean a cynical, snoring and tantrumming collection of my own offspring. Which is nice.
Upon arrival home, I proceeded to strongly encourage Godzilla to go to bed. There were two reasons for this; 1) he was not enjoying the movie we had chosen for the evening’s entertainment as was being somewhat annoying, and 2) he had an early basketball game and I needed him to not be an overtired, grumpy, uncooperative arsehead in the morning.
He ignored all sensible suggestions and bounced around the couch in front of everyone for the next hour and a half.
Which brings me to today.
Grumpy left for work at his usual time, following his usual routine, being to pretend he is doing all not to wake me, but waking me in the process, showering, eating breakfast, and waking Godzilla as he is on his way out the door.
The routine continues some fifteen minutes later, when I struggle out of bed, discover Godzilla is still not up, pour a MUG off coffee along my way to bash loudly on his door and tell him to get up some 37 times.
He grumbles as he lies there, then with much (exaggerated and dramatic) effort, he works his way out of his bed (time taken to do this: approximately 7 minutes), gives me a Death Stare and makes grumbly, incoherent noises.
This morning … I’d had it.
“Don’t you dare!” I say to him, pointing at his face and giving him a death stare of my own.
“Don’t. You. DARE!” I repeat. ” This is why I tell you to go to bed at the time I do. This is why you need to go to bed at that time. You do not get to ignore me then make my life a living hell!”
And he stomps past and does everything he’s asked. Without actually being asked.
We are running on time. I even manage a shower, more coffee and to blow dry my hair, collect a clothing ensemble from the floor and chair beside my bed and be well and truly on time to leave.
“Okay,” I say, big smile on face now. “Let’s go.”
I go to grab my keys, having ensured I have drink bottles, a jacket and change to get into the basketball game.
They are not there.
I search my handbag. They are not there, either. I search the other one, the one that came to Sydney with me. Not there either.
I didn’t think they would be as I deliberately didn’t take them.
I search benchtops, table tops, toilet tops … the works.
I think back … to two days ago, Thursday. Which is, in relative terms, a long time ago.
I think and think … and come to the conclusion that they are in the glove box of Grumpy’s car from when I’d managed a walk with my friend on Thursday morning.
Am overcome with horrendous feeling of Guilt. Not something I experience often, as it is a rather pointless emotion.
I think I just felt bad that I’d yelled at him for being grumpy, uncooperative arsehead and told him to hurry up