Wednesday, 8 September 2010

A Woman's Touch (no homo)

I’ve been thinking about taking a wife.

Now it’s not such a strange thing as some of you may think, I know I am a Gay, and I don’t want to get all you lady readers over excited about any potential courting opportunities – hold on now, steady.

You see I’ve got a king-size now, with box space below, and an under stair cupboard, with light, so I think there’d be plenty of room for her. I don’t know where she’d keep her bonnets but I do have off site storage options that I could look into – I’m thinking a sturdy carrier – maybe John Lewis or C&A and if we put a couple of these together, they’d provide a tip top waterproof container, in the garden, for some of her corsets, hair pins, ribbons and recipe cards.

You see the thing is, I tire of chores but moments after they are initiated, I only have to fold a tea towel and I have to take to my Captain's chair and have another sip of Complan.

I want you to think, just for a minute, about what I have to put myself through, night after night, day in day out, at the weekends, and even when I am away.

Tonight, for example, I returned home after 9 hours of tedious chuff. There was a list of required activity long enough to bruise Mrs Bridges’ ego. And I don’t know how I can continue to be expected to have to slave for myself – day after day.

This is what I had to do this evening:

I had to turn my own mattress, and replace the 600 count with a fresh set - under, flat, top, pillow cases, duvet cover - it all adds up!
I had to do some washing up, my own dishes! and do a surface wipe-down in the kitchen. 
I had to load the washing machine – with washing and washing liquid.
I had to turn the oven on, drizzle olive oil over a handmade pizza, and then put it in the oven -by hand.
I had to make myself a small salad - yes.
I had two new CDs to load onto my computer – I had to do this myself.
I had to call my sister, dialling myself, using my own voice, to discuss her birthday and our week in Cornwall.
I had to respond to a couple of emails, typing by hand.
I had to pour my own wine, red - which is heavier than white.
I had to put the ruddy archers on as I am 4 weeks behind.
I had to sit quietly and contemplate my future.
I had to walk to the post box - walk, and post a birthday card, holding it in my hand all the way.
I had to take some rubbish out, by hand, and consider the state of the pavement.
I had to ring Robbyn and give her some advice about should she ever choose to move home.
I had to go onto facebook and respond positively to the utterings of my inner circle.
I had to watch a clip of Paul O’Grady at the RVT.
I had to wash the lenses of the glasses I’ve bought to wear to Ronnie Corbett’s do at the Dorchester.
I had to chase up a Cornishware order..............

All this, and with a shopping trip to plan, and a haircut to arrange for Saturday.

Do I need to go on?

I don’t know how the rest of you cope.

A wife seems the only answer.

1 comment:

Clive said...

Darling, a wife would not solve your problem, not unless she was particularly stupid or sevile. What you need is a housekeeper or a houseboy/man. Someone to keep your house in order and look after your affairs. Besides a wife would demand conjugal rights, nocturnal activity - heaven forbid the mess.
Please remove these unnatural thoughts from your mind immediately!