My weak end

One of the benefits of being married to a man with an inscrutable face, is the freedom to share certain questionable thoughts without fear of facial reprisal. There wouldn’t be much difference in his responses to say “can I get you a cuppa?” and “I think I’m dying. No, seriously. Help me.”, while adopting a semi-keeling over position in the case of the latter.  His expression would remain blank. And he would doubtless insist on completing both tasks himself.

As it happened, my self-diagnosis was slightly off-beam. Rather than suffering a heart attack brought on by the hedonistic lifestyle of my 20s that finally boomeranged to wipe me out after surrendering to sobriety (frequently overheard at my funeral: “And she had just given up carbs and bitterness”. Insert head-shaking and hand-wringing here), the tremors were palpitations and random muscle twitching. A death-scare detonated by excessive caffeine in-take in rapid time. And it hadn’t yet struck ten on a weekend morning, which was more likely the probable cause of my temporary organ failure.

More often than not, it is to his credit that he refrains from erupting into eye-rolls, grimaces and tears. Here is a sample of some of the things I declared with a dead straight face over the weekend that merited one or all:

“I’ve decided I’m going to become a Humanist celebrant”

I truly believed it in that moment. For anything is possible when you’ve had a dire week at work. You can simultaneously punch yourself with one fist for minor failings while caressing your cheek with delusions of grandeur clutched in the other, plucked when listening to a radio documentary on folk who marry and bury folk with such skillful professionalism they make it look easy.

Other recent instances of job envy:

Toll road booth collectors: Some of the happiest people on the planet. Doubtful there’d be enough material there for a documentary, but whatever it is that keeps their bearable cheeriness on show, I’m game.

Postwoman: Recession-proof. Minimal interaction with the public. Uniform. Postman Pat for a role model. Getting paid to exercise and lose weight. What’s not to love?

“I’m going to give that 5:2 diet a go”

Potential perfect get-out clause for those of us not arsed with cooking on a Monday and Tuesday. And there would be no need to waste valuable Sunday evening time preparing dinner for the following day. Time that could be better spent sitting on the sofa running my fingers through the mane of The Fear in dreaded anticipation of Monday coming round. And wondering how I’m going to fill the empty TV void in the wake of The Fall finishing.

“That new David Gray song isn’t bad”

In fairness, I waited an entire week before admitting it. Then backed it up later by reading aloud an article that confirmed he had broken off his under-the-table hand-holding with Telestar and was back plumbing the depths of his remaining credibility.

I tend to pull that reading aloud tactic whenever I stumble on scientific proof the world agrees with me (i.e. one columnist. A blogger will do. What do you mean they’re both writers? Ha). “Listen to this”.. a sure sign there is some righteousness afoot along with unbearable self-satisfaction. Both mine.

“I’m just the annex of your life”

There might have been a cameo appearance from a few hormones, and an invasion of the ridiculous that even I was aware of, but I wasn’t going to back down from a non-argument with anything other than a flourish of excessive melodrama that required me to turn away and conceal my own laugh. I’ve an awful feeling I’m going to blurt that one out accidentally again, the new recurring motif in my irrational line of defense for behaving like a wanker. At least it beats “you’re so remote” that had long passed its expiry date.

“You’ll never guess. I was mistaken for a homeless person”

At an ATM in Dublin of all places. Maybe it’s the heightened level of concern and consciousness following the devastating death of a young man in a doorway close to government headquarters last week, but I couldn’t help but think it was down to my poverty chic. It must’ve been because the bloke just dived in in front of me in the queue then did a double-take and apologised on failing to locate a polystyrene cup about my person. I like to fashion myself on those put-upon, impoverished, rural pensioners and strive to emulate the best with my daring season defining shawl.

It was my opening anecdote when I met my mate five minutes later in the cafe opposite. And was demolished moments after by the contents of a private message she’d just received on Facebook from a guy she was half-trying to work up some chemistry with to see where it would lead them.

“I suppose a shag with you in a strap-on is still out of the question?”

I’m so robbing that one.

Peig Sayers

“How do you spell that again, Peig?”

“S..t..r..a..p..o..n”

.

Advertisements

11 thoughts on “My weak end

  1. Thanks. Thanks a lot. I’ve just spluttered coffee all over my keyboard 😉 Wish I had one of those Inscrutable Blokes….do you think I could get one in Christmas stockings??? And isn’t the Fall brilliant! Anything could happen now that Merlin has turned up. He looks very shifty. Clearly a bad thing will happen to Scully involving his wicked way. Didn’t know he was Irish. But then I didn’t know David Tennant was Scottish. Acting, huh! 🙂

    • And who knew Gillian Anderson was a member of the English gentry! Yeah, yer man, only 10 years old when he joined the force. The limits of credibility are stretched on the show at time but I love it. We’re a week ahead of you here on spudmuncher TV. Fancy a spoiler alert? Ah the power 😀 I’ve done that cheesy teeth grin again, haven’t I…

      • Just caught up with The Fall. Gripping stuff! Great fight scene with Baddie against Badder. And isn’t Merlin good at Moody Stand Off! Bet he’s watched a lot of Clint Eastwood fillums 🙂

      • Yeah, what a brood-off. Christian Gray (as he will soon become known) won that one eyes down. We have to wait till Wednesday for the two-hour (yipee) finale. Will there be time for Scully to share her..ahem..experience with Merlin? According to the snippet in the preview, Spector has “one more card up his sleeve”. Gasp. What could it be? An Elvis curled lip? *bites nails*

  2. Yes, I’d forgotten about Scully. Think I found that out on Graham Norton…..now there’s a man who took liberties with the priesthood!

  3. Haha this has perked up my Monday morning no end. I did suffer some confusion just now when I read the references to the Fall and asked myself: “How come everyone’s only watching it now? I wish I hadn’t seen it yet as well!”. Your caffeine spasms had me chuckling: I’ve been known to derail my whole Saturday and have to cancel my plans because of excessive pre-10am intake.
    I had recent job-envy of dustbin men. They were swinging through Ranelagh on the back of the dumpster more or less singing in unison. It was such a contrast to my grim corner of the office and hateful colleagues that I almost threw them my CV. Yes, what is with the toll road booth collectors?? Every time I expect an evil grunt and no eye contact but those people are genuinely cheery! What’s going on in those booths?
    I read “when I met my five mates minutes later” instead of “when I met my mate five minutes later” and had lifestyle anxiety for a few seconds – I don’t think I’d be able to muster up five mates. Do that Humanist crowd eschew funerals? Maybe I’ll become one too, due to said lack of mates (NB it’s all to do with being a foreigner abroad, not with being pathologically anti-social).

    • We’re the same vintage, DS, so the coffee thrills must be age related. Let’s be each other’s control in the experiment until we confirm that. Maybe there’s some spoils to be found in the dustbins in Ranelagh. Like Nell McCafferty’s underpants. There’s a sentence I never ever imagined I would end up typing. I went so far as to visit the humanist big chief for a semi-interview. I wrote a blog about it (why do you think I went?). I can’t be arsed to dig it out but I smiled a lot and spoke with my telephone voice. I don’t think we’ve a future together. I reckon I’ve about four and a half mates. I’m such a brag. They’ll never be in the one room together though, since I would only be able to bring one version of myself along and all my other personalities would be jealous.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s