Friday, 16 December 2011

My wife can speak in italics.

'Dar-ling.' my beloved murmured, putting so much emphasis on the first syllable that I could almost feel the damoclean sword brushing the top of my skull.

   'You know that it's Christmas soon? That was when my stomach began to palpate because this is a voice and a technique she uses but rarely. It always precedes a request that is either impossible, insane or downright illegal to fulfil.

   Like last year when she told me that we'd been invited to house-sit someone's luxury apartment while they were skiing in St Moritz, because they'd been burgled and didn't want it to happen again. Yet conveniently waiting until after I had agreed to the owner, that neither she or my daughter had any intention of coming with me. At least I got to watch all the Rocky films whilst consuming a vast amount of his very large wine cellar.

   I'm not sure what she wants this time as I ran out of the house screaming. But if this is my final entry you'll know that it was something so bad that it took either my life, my sanity, my freedom or even my soul.