Tired of Waiting for You

Today was to have been a round of serious cleaning and de-cluttering. It didn't happen. I have had very little sleep. The Football Fanatic went out lastnight. I always wait up for her until she gets back in. There are reasons for this. The Football Fanatic looks like a cross between Paris Hilton and Cameron Diaz. Add to this one pair of hot pants, one backless halter-neck top and the previously mentioned encyclopaedic knowledge of teams, tactics, managers, the offside rule and duties of the fourth official and you basically have a honeypot to which boys are attracted like bees. I remember boys. This is why I wait up.

Anyway, after queueing for a taxi in the city centre, she arrived home at 3.30am. The she wanted to talk. She always wants to talk. This used to drive me crazy until a woman at church said to me "It's when she comes home at half-three and she doesn't want to talk you're in trouble." So, we talked. Till 4am. She decided she would go to bed. This seemed an excellent idea to me, as she had to get up at 5am to go to work. (Part-time, university holidays, but 5am all the same). And guess, just guess, who has to get up to make sure she gets up?

So the de-cluttering went by the board. The Football Fanatic came home from work at lunchtime and slept till 6 o'clock. I cleaned the kitchen, went to the greengrocers, made a large pan of chicken stock for tomorrow, washed, ironed, sorted out three Wii-based arguments, hoovered the living room and made a roast dinner for six people with three vegetables and roast potatoes.

Goodnight.

Sleeping Woman Colin Watson