I will get my own back you know. What's that they say about revenge being a 'dish best served cold'? Well, by the time I have hatched my fiendish plot to get my own back on the husband and the badly timed arrival of the rotivator, never mind cold, my dish will be one of Arctic proportions.
After my morning of digging yesterday (three bloody hours) the pain in my buttocks has quietened down to a dull roar, only becoming an issue on staircases. My poor buttocks. Like they didn't have enough to deal with on Saturday night after the dodgy mussels, now they have to deal with Digger's Buttocks - this is what you get when you have been squatting over a patch of weeds for several hours at a time.
To top it all, I had Pilates last night. This helped greatly as the pain in my stomach muscles took my mind off my buttocks. It's all relative you know...
As to my revenge on the husband, I have several ideas floating around. These range from wearing my bra back to front, and seeing his reaction. He won't be able to make his mind up as to whether my boobs have dropped two feet overnight, settling somewhere around my waist, or whether my boobs have disappeared altogether, only to be replaced with a stomach with a centre parting.
Or I could play havoc with his packed lunch, which I lovingly make him every morning. He never knows what is in the salad, until he opens the lid, so perhaps a neatly cling filmed dog chew (sucked to within an inch of its short life naturally) would be an alternative to his normal fayre.
Then there is a badly hidden pregnancy test (positive of course), ham sewn into his trouser hems (the dogs would never leave him in peace) or papers implying adoption of a couple more dogs.
But it's ok. I wouldn't do anything as drastic as that as you know.
We are planning on growing runner beans on the allotment this year, and after slicing what felt like 4 million of them last year (I dreamt about them for about a week afterwards), I bought a bean slicer which makes the job a piece of cake.
This year, I will give the husband the job of slicing the beans. Just as he gets to the last five or so, I will suddenly remember the bean slicer, hidden at the back of the knife drawer.
That'll teach him...