Feeling particularly tired all day, quite possibly due to my interactions with large telecommuncations company that seemed to have little to no concept of what “communication” actually is and taking up most of my day trying to get someone to talk to me, and when I eventually managed that, I was then left pleading for someone to talk to that appeared to be located closer than a country far far away and had some kind of grasp on the English language.
Someone I could understand, by this stage, would have been most appreciated and helped by ever-increasing headache.
Then, the day was over, I had a houseful of children and was set to cook the evening meal.
And… horror of horrors! I was out of wine!!!!!! Argh!
Of course, I knew this as we had no wine last night either.
Also, I was embarking on a challenge of doing something with minced beef that wasn’t bolognaise related, or even pasta related in any way.
Hubby was helping by being far to much in my personal space, which, due to the events of the day had expaned to a 3 kilometre radius, and he was fucking with knobs. The one’s on the stove, not down his pants.
He knows this is not only stricty forbidden, but potentially life-threatening for him. Arguing with me about the level of flame is not helping. Especially as there is no wine.
“There is now wine!” I complain to him. He courteously offers to go and get some. I can’t think to make a decision. I tell him if he feels like going, then go, if not then don’t, but get out of my damned kitchen.
He makes the decision for me by not only fiddling with the knob for the other pot, but also reaching over and stirring what was in it!
“Yes, go. GO NOW AND GET ME WINE!”
I think it is the only time in my mummying life that I have been grateful for the complete lack of fermented grape in my house.
Waving a knife at him and threatening to cut his balls off if he didn’t leave my kitchen immediately didn’t work, but I think he sensed the seriousness of the Lack Of Wine situation.
I’m really just glad of the excuse to get him to leave.