There are things that a girl ("get you", says hubby, " still in fantasy 22 year old mode?" Silence him with a sharp left to the nethers and a sprinkle of fish food in his museli) should learn by the age of 35. Example - the need to relegate certain phallic foods to the comfort of ones' own home. Innocent walk to friends' place to collect the baby becomes a gauntlet of testosterone fuelled verbal warfare - "ere love, get your gums round these instead" when local builder (read middle aged plonker who never grew out of his lego obsession) spots me with a banana. 'A banana, who'd have thought it, she's playing with fire' looks abound from smuggy mummy across the road with tidy children passing by on a fluffy cloud of Boden induced bliss (prozac to you and I). Resist the urge to take his withered plums and nail them to his half-built loft conversion. Or perhaps to smuggy mummys' bugaboo...... "Darling, what have you got there, I didn't know Waitrose had started doing builder balls again? Terribly nutritious. Full of protein...these ones look past their best..?..."
Arrive home feeling ashamed of uncharitable thoughts and vow to spread a little love next time. As soon as I've taken the husband out of his cupboard for a little fresh air and to do his business.
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