Give it a few years love , DIY will wipe off that smile!
My husband took a week off work.
Great, that’s my week fucked up!
So he decides to paint the outside of the house.
Ok, so your all thinking, don’t be an ungrateful cow.
Off we go for a family trip to B&Q .
I follow my husband dotingly down the aisles, and the kids trail after us, causing a wave of destruction as they go.
Browsing in the solvents aisle (It crosses my mind, a week at home with both husband and kids, I might need one of these to get me though).
I look down the aisle.
It was then that I spotted the old man with mouldy head.
Oh crap- I look back and, to late, observant eldest child is on the case.
Eldest child: ” Mummy what is wrong with that mans head “She announced in her loudest shouting voice.
Next time I’ll get her a fucking loud-speaker!
Mother: ” Shhhh, be quiet and stop being so rude ”
She’s got a point though, what the fuck is that?
She shuts up and decides to stare opened mouth, tainted with a slight look of disgust at the man.
Not sure that’s an improvement in the rudeness stakes.
We buy up the aisle and make a swift exit.
Down to the DIY.
Husbands starts cracking open paint pots and balancing ladders on dangerously high roof beams.
WTF man, you need your arms and legs to work! I’m sure you should have safety ropes or something.
Its best I don’t look.
So I go and make myself useful and do my’ womans work’ inside (I would bitch slap my husband if he called it that).
Head in washing machine, I hear the familiar mating call of my husband. ” Is it time for a coffee yet ”
I don’t no love, have you put the fucking kettle on?
Dotingly I make the drinks.
Back to the painting and I get my head back into the washing machine.
Then that familiar mating call clashes with my ear drums again ” Do you no where my phone is love ”
Why the fuck would I know, Its your phone.
I find it and I return it to my husbands person.
Back to the washing machine.
Then I hear ” Pass me the screw driver”
Is he taking the piss?
Why the fuck, when a man takes on a bit of DIY, does it instantly turn us women folk into their general personal assistant.
When I’m knee-deep in washing, ironing and household scum , and he’s chilling in front of the tv.
You don’t find me hollowing from beneath a pile of skiddy pants
” Can you get me a coffee love
” Could you just pass me that spatula darling”
No, I start a job by myself and I fucking finish it by myself!!!!
Thus prooving, men really do need a mummy, not a wife!