Monday morning, and in the dog house with mrs househusbandnot because I questioned the merit of using the Pete Tong/Ibiza Rave ringtone on the alarm on her Blackberry again this morning. (It really does sound as though Tongy is in the bed with you, mixing up a storm. I guess it wakes mrs hhns up. It certainly wakes me - and the dead - up too.) Anyway, not a good start to the week. mrs hhn left in not v good mood with me, which of course ruins my day because - underneath it all - all I care about is her being happy, despite not showing it that often.
I think the alarm argument was part of a deeper malaise starting with mrs hhn asking me yesterday if I felt I had yet achieved what I wanted in life, followed later in the day by me being attacked by a swarm of flies that are hanging around the wormery at the moment. It was all just a bit Mr Bean Gothic, and I spent most of the evening sulking, followed by a series of dreams about mrs hhn and I being forced to move houses over and over again, with breaks in the dreams of me lying in bed (awake) wondering why I am having these dreams in the first place. (There is nothing worse than wanting to know why one is feeling anxious.)
Anyway, yes. Sandwiches. Sandwiches eaten this weekend: 1 x cold pork and mustard on white, and 1 x bacon and mushroom on granary bap. (Bap is a horrid word. Not nearly as good as muzzle.) We actually had mr anonymous aka The Waunch aka The Sandwich Nazi over for supper on Friday evening, and he had his ass royally busted by mrs hhn when he admitted that he thought wraps were sandwiches. He comes out with all these rules and regulations and then tries to sell a soggy old pancake as a sandwich. Weak Mr Waunch. Weak. And you know it.
He and mrs hhn had a whole further conversation about those fold over pizzas and whether or not they are sandwiches, but he had lost his (self appointed) place of authority by this stage in the discussion, and was forced to concede defeat (moral, factual, actual etc. etc.) and padded off to our roof terrace to drink scotch with me, where I was holding court about something or nothing. Being married to an American, The Waunch is no doubt considering litigation about the public humiliation mrs hhn dealt to him. But he knows - and we know - if you live by the sword, you must also die by it.
In other news, my sister arrived at our place on Saturday with her new laptop, which "has some sort of lock on it, so I can't open it". Hmmm. Turns out my sis aka Bill Gates was trying to open the laptop from the back, which puts her right up there in that bracket of people too dumb to be allowed to own a computer. I feel I can say this without sounding too harsh, because - although I have worked out how to open a laptop - I am currently feeling the need for considerable improvements in my IT skills to match (or allow) some of the things I want to do in the coming months: spreadsheets on sandwich favourites; hhn taking over world; automated apology email notices to mrs hhn; infrared beams to get rid of cat on balcony; joining on-line wormery discussion groups; downloading Gordon Brown/David Cameron podcasts to make me sleep more deeply; spam bombing The Waunch etc etc etc.
the ongoing saga of pretending to be a house husband in the new millennium
Where's Vinderama?
6 comments:
Are you using this blog as an easy way of getting round mrs hhn? After all, its easier to write you're sorry than say it face to face? Giving you the moral high ground but still being cowardly.
hhn - we expect more. Goodish blog though for a Monday
Coming from someone who regularly fails to step up to the mark by reducing comments to vulgarities I find this interesting.(And who's hiding from who Madame B?)
What I would say - and other more acute readers will have noticed - is that this morning I ended up dissing The Waunch so that mrs hhn would like me - which is not very brave or clever or nice (and kind of dumb too because she loves The Waunch). So apologies to The Waunch. (I have already made my apologies to mrs hhn re the alarm.)
As a blogger, I have no moral high ground.
Rather tetchy this morning aren't we? Who's hiding? I'm over here.
I would add that 'as a man you have no moral high ground'
I would be more than happy to die by the sword if anyone had one that intimidated me at all. I don't think mrs hhn 'royally busted' my ass in the sandwich-related discussion on Friday - far from it. Merely shouting "I win! I win!" doesn't actually mean you've won. The logic of food that's encased in a bread product for ease of eating being a sandwich is irrefutable. And as to the calzone being a sandwich, that's just bollocks. Because if it was, and such a thing as an open-faced sandwich existed, then a pizza would be a sandwich. Which it isn't.
I spent the whole weekend considering the sandwich question and I've got loads to say on the subject. Unfortunately, having pulled something in the shoulder/neck region I'm in a certain amount of discomfort which makes typing/soapboxing rather difficult. So for the time being, hhn, may I just draw your readers' attention to your tenuous hold on the English language? 'And who's hiding from whom, Madame B?' is surely what you meant. ( Isn't this your department The Waunch? )
"spreadsheets on sandwich favourites" = sandwich spread sheets?
(chortle)
My only rule (made up this minute) is that any more than three ingredients, not including bread, butter and salt and pepper, is pretentious and wrong.
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