Skip to main content

Almost cut my hair...

Friday night was spent vegging in front of the television catching up on various soaps with the husband (it doesn't seem to matter how many I miss, as nothing much ever happens).  

'Fancy something to eat?' he asked during the adverts.  

'I have steaks in the fridge - we could have them with some chips.  Will that do?'

Now these weren't any old steaks, I'll have you know.  These were Aldi steaks, bought last Friday and on their final hours of 'Best By...'.  The husband was sceptical as these two pieces of 28 day matured beef had cost me the princely sum of £6.58, and the oven chips I was delicately thrusting into a tray had cost 69p, so all in all, we were looking at a budget meal of some proportion.  Now in our house, I am not allowed to cook the steaks.  

This comes under the Blue Job category, and is therefore only allowed to be undertaken by males of the house.  Well as my two dogs aren't too good with a spatula and the induction oven equivalent of a naked flame, it was left to the husband to do them.  'You get the chips started,and I'll have a really quick shower.  When I come down, I'll cook the steaks'.  Looking at the kitchen clock, I said to him that the chips would be ready by 7.45, ie 25 minutes time.  His parting words?  'No problem at all...'

He wasn't back downstairs by 7.35, when the steaks should have gone on.  Now was he down by 7.45, when the chips were cooked.  At 7.50, I turned the oven off to stop the chips resembling charred Swan Vestas, and I turned the hob on and started to warm the frying pan up for the steaks.

'Step away from the steaks', he thundered as he saw me starting to pick up one of the steaks.  I looked up, and OH.  MY.  GOD....

'What on earth have you done?' I asked him, my eyebrows shooting up so high that they almost shot off my forehead.

Concentrating on getting the steaks into the hot pan, he went on to explain that he'd cut his own hair with his beard trimmer.  Now let's get a couple of things straight here.  Firstly, he has no beard, so why he has a beard trimmer is anyone's guess (perhaps it came free with the nasal hair trimmer which lurks at the back of the cupboard gathering dust) and secondly, he doesn't have much hair on his head, and what he does have tends to be down the back, rather than on the top and sides.

'I think I've done quite a good job actually', he said, flipping the steaks.

Well from the front, maybe.  But when I looked at the back, it looked a bit like a leg which you've shaved in the dark under the influence of drink.  You know the kind of thing, when you're stretched out by the pool, and just happen to glance down at your legs and notice the small five o'clock shadow just above your ankle, looking like an early crop of snowdrops.  His small crop circle was at the top, and having mentioned it to him, I suggested that perhaps he should cultivate that and turn it into a ponytail.

Smiling knowingly, the husband simply said, 'You know what a ponytail always hides, don't you?'

'No, I don't', I said.

'An ar**hole, that's what'.

Said 'Tufty' as he slapped the steaks onto the plate, which, by the way, were delicious...


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Say goodbye...

Here's a question for you.  Why is it that when we are dieting, we say that we have 'lost weight'.  To me this implies that at some time in the not so distant future, we're going to find it again.  I like to imagine a 28lb blob of yellow fat in a three piece suit, winking lasciviously at me and saying, 'Oi skinny.  I've missed you.  Fancy letting me ride shotgun around those hips again?'
So instead of 'losing weight' I am getting rid of it.  Throwing it away.  Killing it.   Banishing it, never to be seen again.  Previous experience tells me that I will probably have old Blobby hanging back around my middle in a couple of years, once I've tired of leaves and crispbreads, but I am trying to do things slightly different this time.  Slowing down the stampeding rate I eat (I blame hurried school lunches for this), speeding up the walking, and being more aware of what I am doing and why I am doing it.
Someone once told me that if I ever felt like pickin…

Cold wind blows...

I don't know how cold it is with you at the moment, but I spent yesterday morning snapping the two furballs off various trees and posts as we attempted a walk before I went to work.  I had made the schoolgirl error of asking myself, 'Just how cold can it be?' before putting one extra sweater on beneath my walking coat.  I also had my Olga from the Volga fur hat, a scarf and gloves (to be fair, I've been wearing all of these since the middle of October).  Unfortunately, what I hadn't taken into consideration was the above the knee dress I was wearing to work yesterday.  I imagined that the extra warmth up top would somehow work its way to my knees.  
I was wrong.
Getting back indoors after forty five minutes of combat with The Beast from the East, I looked down at my legs.  Even with the black 100 denier tights I was wearing, I could see that my legs had taken on a slightly different hue to normal.  They were looking like two red pillar boxes, and it took ten minutes …

A man could go quite mad...

I have started to realise that there are many things about me which drive the husband mad.  When you first get together, those small faults are cute and a little bit quirky.  However, fast forward a couple of decades and they become a fairly acceptable excuse for manslaughter.  
I started thinking about this after the contretemps with the cutlery drawer a couple of weeks ago.  If you remember, the husband informed that that I was messing with his feng shui by putting the boiled egg spoons in with the dessert forks.  He only seemed to notice that I did this after I bought a new cutlery tray for the drawer, so I'm blaming Groupon for grassing me up.
The other thing is my snoring.  When we first met, this was described as 'endearing', and he told me that as he lay next to me at night, he used to smile to himself and listen to me.  This swiftly moved on to comparisons with a nasally challenged warthog, and more recently to a Boeing 747 with a noisy exhaust.  I'm considerate …