Bastards

The boy and I went swimming again yesterday evening. He decided that he would much rather swim than go to the park, and as we didn’t have time to do both, swimming won.

We went at around dinner time. I thought I had been cunning and that, like with lunch time the day before, the pool would be empty.

We were not quite so lucky this time.

It was not heaving, but it was busy, and we could only use the larger of the two pools. This was unfortunate because:

Oscar had an attack of the colly wobbles about not being able to put his feet down except in the very shallow end. I pointed out to him that when you were swimming you didn’t put your feet down anyway, so it would not make any difference how deep the pool was. Apparently I was wrong. He spent large parts of the time we were there, when I managed to forcibly drag him from the shallow end, with his arms and legs wrapped round me like a limpet. Not ideal.

The shallow end would not have been a problem to stay in, had it not been for the fact that that was where everyone else seemed to want to stay too. It was full of giggling girls drifting about ‘not swimming’ but managing to get in everyone else’s way, teenage boys doing hand stands for the edification of all of their friends, and middle aged women who can’t swim, bobbing about trying to keep their hair dry whilst pretending to get fit. i.e. everything I hate about swimming in a public baths.

I couldn’t rush off and swim without the boy as I didn’t want him to drown and/or be kidnapped by a nefarious looking stranger, so I spent the best part of an hour freezing my tits off standing in luke warm wee diluted water.

I was not entirely thrilled.

We got home to find that ants, who seemed to have had a busy winter building a giant nest under the front door, have decided on anschluss and had annexed the porch.

Urgh. I hate ants.

Scurrying inside to get the ant powder etc, I turned on the kitchen light only to have one of the bulbs explode into a million tiny pieces all over the kitchen.

Huzzah!

Oscar nearly wet his pants. I said a few choice words, and had to spend several minutes fumbling about in the insides of the fuse boxes switching things.

Then spent the rest of the evening evicting ants and chasing minuscule pieces of glass round and round.

By the time I’d finished I was absolutely shattered.

I was slumped in front of the computer at midnight, thinking dark thoughts about going to bed when Jason rang.

He said: ‘I had a nightmare. I hope I didn’t wake you.’

I mumbled: ‘No. It’s all good. What nightmare?’

He said: ‘I dreamed I was at home and the front door bell rang…’

At that moment, the front door bell rang.

I nearly wet my pants.

It was Jason. He had snuck home a day early and not told me.

I was torn between battering him over the head with a bit of two by four for scaring the living snot out of me, and hugging him.

I hugged him.

It was a close run thing.

3 responses to “Bastards

  1. that is so sweet of Jason, and a little wicked 🙂

  2. I thought that J’s door bell bit was heart-meltingly romantic…but of course, I wasn’t shattered when I read your blog, like you were when the bell went in the dark of night.

  3. I have just about forgiven him now, and decided that it was indeed romantic!

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