Kinky boots...

-
The husband's birthday limped on for another twenty four hours after the celebration shared with Mothering Sunday.  Yesterday morning as the insistent alarm reminded us that yet another workaday week had begun, he rolled over and muttered, 'But it's my birthday.  Do I have to go to work?'  This was a rhetorical question because he knew that even if he didn't have to go to work, he'd have to go somewhere rather than get under my feet for the afternoon. 

Going off-piste slightly here, I am quietly dreading the day when he hangs up his monkey wrench for good.  I think he might turn into one of those husbands who, after thirty years of avoiding anything kitchen-related, manages on his first day of retirement to rearrange your spice shelf as 'it's better that way'.  Now correct me if I'm wrong, but after all that time, if I thought that there was a better way of doing anything, does he not think that I might have done it before the first day of his retirement.  Of course, wives never retire, even when they leave their chosen place of work.  

And why is this?  When a woman retires, she is handed an ornamental clock rather than a two foot fairy who is capable of doing all of the housework, washing, ironing, cooking, shopping blah blah blah....  We just carry on working till the day we drop, probably clutching a duster and bin bag as we fall.  Anyway, I digress...

The children and I had pooled our meagre resources and bought the husband a new pair of motorbike boots for his birthday. He has been talking about these since Christmas, so we knew that he would be thrilled skinny when he opened the beautifully wrapped parcel (I forgot to get manly paper on Saturday, so his boots were wrapped in left over Mother's Day wrapping).  What I hadn't allowed for was the purring I would be subjected to as he sat in the lounge on Sunday evening wearing them.  He was wearing his dressing gown so I hoped above anything else that there would be no evening visitors who would bear witness to a fifty five year old man in his night attire, resembling RoboCop from the knees down and Albert Steptoe from the knees up, salivating and stroking a pair of biker boots.

I think given half the chance he would have worn them to work yesterday, but sanity prevailed and they remained in the middle of the kitchen table for the day.

I did consider hiding them before he got back from work yesterday.

I mean, who doesn't love a game on their birthday...


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

It's raining men...

-
We overslept this morning.  I'm not entirely surprised having walked the equivalent of a half marathon over the past two days, and we just about made breakfast.   We did all the usual Christmas stuff today.  Carnaby Street, Regent Street, Borough Market, mulled wine (again), chocolate covered bananas and caramelised nuts.  There was also the issue of the very inclement weather.  Wandering around the whole A to Z of London, the husband decided that a purchase of a hat and scarf was necessary.  Being a fairly sensible woman, I had brought a hat, scarf and gloves with me, but the husband, being of tougher stuff (he hails from the north) had proclaimed that he was no southern softy and would deal with whatever the weather had to throw at him in a manly fashion. Fast forward to late morning, the rain was chucking it down, and the manly fashion had morphed into wimpy whinging about a chaffed chin due to an evil coat zip and a wet head.  And so began the hut hunt. We tried sports shops (t
Read more

Ain't no mountain high enough...

-
Image
I thought you might be interested in the other stuff Mr Bird and I got up to while we were away in the Wobble Box this weekend.  The pinnacle of the weekend was the mountain climb (see what I did there?) but before this, we had anticipated a simple, peaceful and quiet few days together with the dogs.  What we hadn't expected was to be shouted at as we strolled to the pub on the first night, 'What on earth are you two doing here?' Standing outside a posh (and long) motor home, were two very good friends of ours.  Happily retired, they trolley around the world in their home on wheels, and just happened to land in Pandy a whole thirty minutes before we did on Thursday.  The funny thing is, that every time we see each other, the subject of caravans and motor homes is always raised, with promises on both sides made that we will arrange something together for a weekend.  To date, we've never managed to do this, but it finally happened by accident.  We all decided that th
Read more

Diary...

-
Eight years ago, I came up with the idea of writing a diary for my children which I would put into the public domain.  And so Words from a Bird began.  Two thousand posts and almost a million words later, I am still going.  But like all of us, lives change.  Eight years ago, my life was all about the four children, schools, universities, boyfriends, girlfriends, work, my husband, family and the dogs. Much of that is still relevant today, thank goodness, but we now add in two weddings (one more pending), grandchildren (one, and again, one pending), retirement and looking after parents. So to all my completely gorgeous readers, to the ones who have been with me right from the start and to the new ones who have discovered me just this week, thank you for coming along for the ride with me.  I hope I carry on making you giggle for many years to come!   If you don't want to miss anything, just follow the Words from a Bird page. And when I am a very old lady, I hope that my children will
Read more