I don’t ask for much. I have simple pleasures. For example I want to book out a couple of hours on 8 or 9 weekends a year to watch England rugby games. It is my passion….by passion I mean “I love sitting there drinking beer shouting at the telly and hating it when my wife’s country come over here and beat us, so I sulk and say how crap they are and how much they cheat.” Damn South African rugby team and their beating us ways.
So on Sunday after a busy day Saturday, I made plans to book out my couple of hours to enjoy the rugby. Where I get “my time”. The time where after all the hard work I do watching my wife look after the kids and clean the house and do all the chores that I stop watching her and give her pointers. I watch the TV instead.
And that is about where it all went to hell.
On Saturday my daughter went to a birthday party. At the party she ate more sugar than is exported from…erm…*Google’s main sugar exporter*…let’s say Brazil. The side effect of this was a night where she spent most of the night not sleeping but shouting “DADDY! *splat*” and I cleaned up another chunk of sugar induced puke.
Therefore, on Sunday morning she was a very tired and grumpy 2 year old.
Daughter number 2 has also taken up hurling her guts up after food and duly did so several times Saturday.
Honestly…the smell in my house at the moment. But anyway…
Luckily myself and my wife escaped Saturday and woke up Sunday feeling absolutely fine.
At which point, and for a reason that I can only put down to pure malice, she ate a sandwich. A chicken and mayo sandwich. That she bought from the shop two days earlier. And had left out and not put it anywhere near a cold source (lets call it a fridge for arguments sake) to stop it getting a little funky and stopping those “bacteria” chaps from breeding like a spring bunny with quite a penchant for fluffy tails.
“I don’t feel well…” DONT YOU!?!?!?!?! Well why ya think THAT is!
And then it was time for the rugby to start. It was about the time that the national anthems were played that I saw a flash. Another way of saying flash would be “My wife ran past me so fast on the way to the toilet that I didn’t even have time to put my foot out to trip her up”. A few seconds later I heard the ominous cough. Then the splash. Lovely.
“I am going to go and lay down” she said…just before running back to the toilet to lose another couple of KGs.
At this point daughter number 1 decided to start a tantrum that lasted the entire first half of the game.
And then daughter number 2 threw up and fell asleep. I cleaned that up and tried calming daughter number 1 who was now in the other room screaming her tired head off.
I just want to watch the game….
Then the second half starts
Daughter number 1 tantrums and then goes VERY quiet. So I now go and check on her. Fast asleep on the floor in the kitchen. Being the loving father, I step over her, get a beer and go back to sit down. As I sit down, daughter number 2 wakes up and is now laying on me to the point I can’t reach my beer, nor excitedly shout at the TV.
As England score, I make a sound like a demented mouse squeaking his dis-satisfaction at the current fuel prices. This tiny squeak of a noise is enough to wake up daughter number 1. Who starts crying again.
A few seconds later I hear the footsteps of an escaping gazelle upstairs as my wife runs to the toilet to lose the rest of the sandwich.
I have NO idea what the score in the game is at this point…
Daughter number 1 finally comes and lays on me. With daughter number 2 already asleep on me. I still can’t reach my beer. Now I have two sick unhappy girls laying on me asleep.
It is OK though because it is a tight game and there is only 10 minutes left…
9 minutes left.
8 minutes left. Both still asleep….I am gonna make the end of the game!!!
7 minutes left. That’s warm on my leg…hang on…what is that smell? Christ….
Daughter number 2 – 6 months old…pee’s and crapped out the side of her nappy. For a brief moment I thought “You know what…my wife isn’t in the room…will she even know!” But no. I can’t do that to my daughter. I usually smell/am full of crap so it was purely a cleanliness thing for my daughter.
By the time I finish cleaning her and me up, daughter number 1 is grumpy again and the game is already over.
I think it was at about the exact time as the final whistle went that my wife decided to get up.
“What was the score?” she asked.
I gave her a look like a squirrel looks just as I steam around the country lane and he realises he isn’t getting out of the way and the last thing he see’s is his arse making it’s way through his head. I will tell you about my road kill count another time though.
I couldn’t answer her question.
The last game is this Saturday. I printed off the divorce papers this morning…just in case the same happens this Saturday and I miss the game.
wheelturninghamsterdead.com 