Every night, T phones the children. I suppose it makes him feel better, but the jury’s still out on whether the children appreciate it or not. Last night however, he also wanted to speak to me.
I can see you wondering: Had he finally seen the light and wanted to say how sorry he was for the mess he’d made? Joined Al-Qaeda? Decided to become a Buddhist monk? Well, it’s almost as exciting as that: He wants to get come get his ski gear on Saturday night. And no, this cannot wait until he has the children next week, because presumably -ooh, let me take a wild guess here- he’s going skiing on Sunday.
In other words, the man who left me a month ago rings in the middle of feeding time at the zoo to ask me to rummage through our ski gear, find his stuff and pack it for him, so that he may go skiing, while I try to keep up with work-work, house-work and children. The way I see it, I’ve got three options:
- Carry on being a doormat: Pack his stuff and leave it in the cellar for collection as requested. I so resent having to be reasonable…
- Refuse to be a doormat: Leave a packed horse head in the cellar. May not be so helpful in the long run…
- Be crafty: soak his ski gear in super strength hot chilli pepper paste or something equally pleasant.
Seriously, I’m beat: What would you do?