While I was on one of my many trips to Cork recently, my husband took my boots to the cobbler and got them re-soled. I walked home in the rain the other night with toasty dry feet. And you know that I got a Valentine’s card too? Who says romance is dead?
Mr. Waffle
Nearly There
Him: Have you decided what you are going to wear for N’s wedding?
Me: Yeah, it’s a bit mother of the bride but it’s ok.
Him: Well I am going to be father of the bride, so that suits.
It has been decided that Mr. Waffle will say a few words at his sister’s wedding though this is turning out to be less onerous than originally expected (correspondence below):
From: Mr. Waffle
To: MeLooks like I’ll have to jettison the last 18 minutes of my speech…
———- Forwarded message ———-
From: The Bride to be
To: Mr. WaffleHi
How are you? Looking forward to seeing you on Sat week! Hope the speech is not too taxing … we’d ideally like them to come in at under 2 mins or so, but don’t let me cramp your style! I’m sure it will be great.
Talk soon
Flowergirl is very excited indeed.
Greta Garbo Moment or More First World Problems
I get my hair cut once every six months. It grows slowly. Today, I got it cut by this man. I would post a picture but you would die from the coolness of it. Also, all the pictures the Princess took before I went out are impossibly blurry and it just doesn’t look the same after playing tennis in a hat for an hour and a half (lost 6-0, 6-2, thanks for asking).
In a fit of rashness, I made the appointment for Friday at 5. This meant I had to cycle to work so that I would be able to scoot out of the office at 4.45 and be at the hairdresser’s for 5. I signalled to my loving family that I would need to cycle. Everyone wanted to know, why was I cycling to work and not going with them in the car. And then promptly forgot and wanted to know again. At work, Friday afternoon got busier and busier. I was going to be travelling for work on Sunday evening but would I be able to do then all the things that needed to be done for Monday? It was touch and go. Why, my boss wanted to know [from her car as she made good her escape to check out where the G8 will be staying – let the record show that she worked to midnight last night] was I scooting off so early? Because I want to get my hair cut. How many more people do I have to explain my movements to? All people entitled to ask and with only my best interests at heart but I wish there was a little bit of time when I wasn’t accountable to anyone and I could go and get my hair cut then.
The hairdresser put his heart and soul into it and I didn’t get out until 7 at which point poor Mr. Waffle who has a cold had already nobly fed the children and prepared dinner for the grown-ups. I ate it and then I went out to play my tennis match and left him to put them to bed. The guilt. When I got home, he was already tucked up in bed with a lemsip.
Conversation on February 13
Daniel: Tomorrow is a day.
Me: Well, yes, of course it is.
Daniel: No, it’s a day.
Me: No, today is a day, it’s Ash Wednesday and yesterday was a day, it was Pancake Tuesday but tomorrow is just Thursday.
Daniel (insistently): No, it’s a day!
Me: It’s the day you start your mid-term break?
Him: NO.
Me: It’s the day I’m going to drive you to Cork?
Him: NO!
Me: Well, I don’t know then sweetheart.
This morning before we drove to Cork Mr. Waffle gave me a Valentine’s card. Turns out today is a day. Did I have a lovely card for him? A tasteful gift? Alas, no. I hope he still loves me.
On Punctuality
Me: You see, we weren’t late this morning and Daddy wasn’t cross.
Her: But he would have been, had we tarried.
“Had we tarried” really? What is she reading?
The Trials of the Cat Owner
Michael yelled in alarm from downstairs, “A mouse! A mouse!” Mr. Waffle rushed downstairs. The Princess and I cravenly hid in a bedroom with the door firmly closed. Mr. Waffle finding the cat with a live mouse clamped in her jaws at the bottom of the stairs tossed both out the front door. It was a wet day so the cat did the sensible thing and ran straight to the cat flap at the back door and let herself in with the expiring mouse still clamped firmly in her jaws. Mr. Waffle threw them out the front again and rushed to the back door where he put his foot against the cat flap. The cat, with the, now dead, mouse in her mouth succeeded in getting in despite his efforts. He managed to separate her from the mouse and throw it out. She was very peeved. Rather disturbingly, she spent the remainder of the day with her head buried in the back of the bookshelf. What rather unwelcome conclusions may we reach from this?
