No, I Haven't Been Burgled.

 
Blimey O’Reilly if any woman is capable of being the cause of her own bother,  tis I, my Darling Housekeepers.

Yesterday was the epitome of all that is lovely in the life of a single yummy mummy. Estranged man who woulda been my husband took Finley and his cousin Gabriel for a quick cavort around the Botanic Gardens to say hello to the local parrots while I took off my pinny and wandered up the lane to Kath’s gorgeous kitchen where there was coffee and a crinkly packet of the simple pleasure that is  a Teatime Assortment. And there we sat , Kath, Diane and I,  moaning and giggling and commiserating with each other over all manner of woes, while I surreptitiously dipped all the fake jammy dodgers into my cornishware  mug and felt for once like the world wasn’t spinning itself dizzy but was instead holding a gentle little tea-dance….

And then the phone rang. Could I come home IMMEDIATELY because Marks key was stuck in the lock and he and two whining kids were stranded in the GARDEN and for heavens sake WHY HAVEN’T YOU GOT A BACK DOOR KEY ON YOUR PERSON? And what in the name of all that is holy is wrong with you???

So I said my goodbyes to friends and peace of mind, and dilly-dallied my way back up the lane. And there they were, two Fruit Shoot hyper boys and one miserable ex packed into the sardine can that passes for his car. I fiddled about with the key jammed in the lock and walked over to the car to report that yes indeed it was stuck. And he looked at me in a disappointed fashion that got me all worked up and all of a sudden I was Rambo in wellies, roaring with fury fueled fire, because I AM WOMAN AND I WILL GET US INTO THE HOUSE BY HOOK, LINE OR BLOODY SINKER.

I am woman. And once I bashed my dad so hard I knocked myself out so I can do this. I can use power, will and intellectual might to get into MY house. And failing all that I am going to kick the door so hard it will have no choice but to succumb.

And so that’s what I did.  To the astonished stares of passers by in furry hats and a van full of genteel workmen, I lifted my leg up and karate chopped the door. And lo and behold the door opened and lo and behold the glass in the porch smashed and fell out and lo and behold you wouldn’t blame me if I called time on the farce that is my life right this very minute now would you?

But I am woman. And I am independent  and capable. So I walked back to the car and informed man and children that the door was now open and if they would accompany me back to the house I would escort them over the broken glass and into the cosy comfort of my living room.

Then I handed Mark a lovely pair of pink leather gloves and sent him out to deal with the glass, called my Dad and ordered his services and a piece of hardboard 36 by 48, put child to bed, ate my tea, whinged all by myself  at the sight of poor old Amy Winehouse shuffling her lovely way through The (terrible) Brit Awards, ate far too many cappuccino truffles and at half eleven took a call from Mr Nice who informed me he would be just thrilled to carry on seeing me  on the clear understanding that we do not have a future because he isn’t  interested in raising someone else’s child…

My Darling Mr Nice… Ever been karate chopped into next week?

I AM WOMAN. HEAR ME ROAR.