Good Wife meets Shit Wife

 

I came across this article while I was sat on a cafe bog in rural Cumbria.

Don’t get me wrong, I like my vintage nostalgia but women as second class doormats is best left where it is in my opinion..

It occurred to me just how much times have changed so I thought I would compare housewives sixty two years apart. For this purpose I have created Shit Wife..

Have dinner ready. Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal ready on time for his return.

Shit Wife is impressed with Mary Berry’s baking skills but hasn’t yet managed to create the perfect bake. Or even a mediocre bake. In fact, she’s crap at baking. However, Bezzer’s books look fablus on her bookshelf.

Prepare yourself. Touch up your make up.

Shit Wife looks like Alice Cooper by tea-time and is about as fresh looking as week old roadkill. Depending on the season (and availability of leggings) she may also have cactus legs.

Put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh looking.

The last time Shit Wife wore ribbons, David Beckham was a sperm.

He has just been with a lot of work-weary people!

Shit Wife has had the day from HELL. She’s been e-mailing the council about the bins AGAIN, the lurcher’s dinner has done an encore all over the kitchen floor and one of the other Mums has been giving her the evils on the school yard.

Clear away the clutter. Make one last trip through the main part of the house before your husband arrives.

Shit Wife gets busy with the hoover about 30 minutes before Hubs gets in. She has perfected the art of looking knackered when it fact she’s been binge watching Desperate Housewives all afternoon.

Prepare the children. Take a few minutes to wash the children’s hands and faces (if they are small) comb their hair and, if necessary, change their clothes. They are little treasures and he would like to see them playing the part.

Shit Wife hasn’t the time (or inclination) for such shit.

Minimise all noise. At the time of his arrival, eliminate all noise of the washer, dryer or vacuum. Try to encourage the children to be quiet.

Shit Wife has no problem getting them to be quiet as they’ve lost the ability to speak thanks to modern technology. They now communicate via text.

Can u giv meeee sum £ pleaseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee?

Or

Wot?

Be happy to see him

Shit Wife imagines Hubs is Sean Bean

Greet him with a warm smile and show sincerity in your desire to please him.

Shit Wife imagine Hubs is Sean Bean, NAKED.

Don’t greet him with complaints and problems

Shit Wife unloads her crap unto Hubs’ before his coat’s off.

Don’t complain if he’s late home for dinner or even stays out all night. Count this as minor compared to what he may have gone through that day.

*Author of blog starts to choke*

Shit Wife flings Hubs’ tea in the bin when he staggers in late and pissed. If she’s on her period (or menopausal) she’ll launch the plate at him as well. Lucky for him her aim is always off. So far, she’s trashed three dinner sets and half a dozen mugs. However, Hubs’ is now highly competent at plastering. If he stays out all night he will come home to find she’s changed the locks, his clothes are in bin-bags on the pavement and ‘DIE BASTARD’ has been weed-killer-ed into the front lawn. He should count this as minor compared to what she’ll do when she gets her hands on him.

Arrange his pillow

Shit Wife regularly ponders the consequences of smothering Hubs to death with his ESPECIALLY when he’s snorting like a pig and drooling all over her new Argos duvet set. She bides her time for when the menopause finally robs her of her sanity and she can get away with manslaughter on the grounds of diminished responsibility.

Offer to take off his shoes.

Shit Wife knows Hubs’ feet smell like cheesy cat vomit and under NO circumstances (including life threatening) would she EVER touch them.

Speak in a low, soothing and pleasant voice.

Shit Wife’s voice can reach well over 90 decibels when sufficiently riled, like when Hubs turns Emmerdale off to watch some crap about building sheds on Channel Bore.

Remember, he is master of the house.

Only in his dreams..

You have no right to question him.

Shit Wife will give him an interrogation Roz Huntley would be proud of. He WILL be questioned, at length, until he breaks.

A good wife always knows her place.

A good husband knows when to back away slowly.

Disclaimer. Note, Shit Wife is based loosely on me (not telling you which bits) and a few women I know with some creative license thrown in.

P.S all wives are not shit.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Love Is…

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*WARNING* This post contains the word ‘fart’.

Since I’ve been on the decaf I’ve not been a morning person. In fact there’s only a 30 minute period in the entire day when I’m actually firing on all cylinders and then my brain disengages again. I’m also functioning on depleted supplies of oestrogen and this could explain why my inner grumpy went orbital the morning I walked in to find OH’s dirty undies casually draped over the chair.

Two words.

Skid marks.

OH assures me it’s due to having a ‘hairy bottom’ though I think it’s also to do with the numerous ‘rump rippers’ he fires into his ‘drawers’ throughout the day.

Truth be told – I’ve yet to come across a male who hasn’t left varying degrees of skiddery in his underpants. Having been married twice and birthed three sons- I’ve seen more skidmarks than Brands Hatch but apparently I can still be caught off guard and so I found myself faced with a dilemma –  did I wash them, toss them, or set fire to them?

After conducting a brief risk assessment (see what I did there?) I reluctantly chose to violate my washer with the offending skivvies. So I shoved them inside the machine (via the end of my mop) and slammed the door before they could escape. Then I threw in a box of Daz and left them slapping against the door on a hot wash while I staggered off to dry-heave over the kitchen sink.

It got me to thinking about how long into a relationship bad habits creep in and according to an article in The Telegraph – it’s three years and six months after tying the knot. It’s what is known as ‘the comfort zone’. OH and myself married last year but we’ve lived with each other for nine years so I’d say we’re well into the comfort zone!

Early on in relationships people stifle burps and politely leave the room to fart break wind. They take time over their appearance and are considerate to their partners. OH even let me have the TV remote in the early days – imagine that?

Muffling farts with a strategic loo flush?

*sticks hand up*

However, it was OH who took our relationship to another level the night he fired off three consecutive trumps farts into the sofa while watching Top Gun just at the moment that GOOSE DIES!

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This is real life and real life is..

Morning breath that could strip the paint off a barn door.

Watching the light of your life floss his undercarriage WITH HIS UNDERPANTS.

Sniffing what’s left of the crotch of your leggings (with elastic bits pinging out) to see if you can get another day out of them.

Women shuffling around the house in tea-stained dressing gowns or worse – onesies.

Men strolling round the house in saggy man pants or worse – onesies.

Leaving your ‘trimmings’ in the bath – eh ladies?

Toenail clippings on the floor…

The first time OH clipped his toenails off onto the carpet, I had to hold myself back from grievously bodily harming him. One of the talons pinged it’s way into my wine glass, although OH was oblivious to it as he was deep in concentration tackling his big toe at the time.

Folks, if my Dad had given himself a pedicure over my Ma’s Axminster carpet – he’d have needed those clippers surgically removed. Truth.

Clipping your hoofs in front of your OH is most definitely NOT bringing sexy back. Do it over the bath or the bog, eh?

Nose-picking?

Everybody does it but the female of the species generally do it in private whereas the males can spotted knuckles deep anytime, anyplace and anywhere.

I blame TV’s portrayals of so called ‘perfect relationships because it gives people unrealistic expectations of what relationships should be. Humans aren’t perfect, therefore life isn’t perfect and neither are relationships. Richard Gere strutting into a dusty old factory wearing a uniform and slinging Debra Winger over his shoulder?

Only in Hollywood.

Whereas Jim Royle picking his nose, farting and announcing to ‘Baaaaaaarb’ that he’s off for a “Tom-Tit” is entirely believable.

Snoring is another thing we tolerate in the early days because our brains are releasing happy-go-lucky neurotransmitters into the bloodstream. However, once the happy juice wears off you could quite happily beat the living shit out of them with a shovel in order to get some sleep! Am I wrong?

Having said that, I woke myself up snoring not so long ago, so, er, moving on….

After the infatuation dies down is when the real love begins.

Love is commitment.

Love is knowing that your partner is flawed but loving them anyway.

Love isn’t a bunch of roses or a box of chocolates (or a cactus) it’s a feeling in the heart which no amount of money can buy. When someone loves you despite your faults, you have something really special.

That’s what love is.

OH loves me despite the fact I’m a bit very strange.

He’s not fazed when I turn psycho due to lack of hormones. You know, the hormones that make us bearable?

So I tolerate the skidundies, the TV remote hoggery and general man habits because he tolerates me.

I even forgive him for ruining Goose’s emotional exit from Top Gun.

Because that’s what love is.

*OH sportingly approved this post but wishes it to be known that he picks his clippings up afterwards.

This is true except for the ones which shoot under the sofa. *snorts*

Image Credit J D Hancock via CC

A Bit Of Everything