Tuesday Morning.

 

Well plainly I know you can’t call eight o’clock Tuesday night, Tuesday morning, but I’m in a terrible mood and it won’t do you any favours to argue with me…
I’ve got a stinking cold, sick of January disease and a stalker. Lucky old me.
You know things are bad when I start talking about laundry a lot. When you ring me up and all I can say is that I’ve done another batch of ironing and a woman’s work is never done and yes, I’m perfectly fine THANK YOU. And it is Tuesday and come hell or high water I never iron on a Tuesday, but today I am ironing past myself, taking control of all the things I can do nothing about by surrounding myself with lavender scented piles of neatly pressed laundry. Laundry that in some cases I have re-washed. Just for the fun of it.
Colds make you feel sorry for yourself at the best of times. Some evil bugger has reset Finley’s body clock so he has taken to rising at 5.45 on the dot, every morning. A whole two hours earlier than usual. Big Brother is getting on my nerves. I can’t get warm. And all of a sudden I am living the most peculiar of groundhog days and to call me not a happy sausage would be vastly understating the issue.
Yes Alison. Yada, yada, yada. Same old, same old. Never mind all that, what about your STALKER???
Hmmm. I know him of old. In a very old flame kind of way. Who once upon a time I would have sold my soul for, but who  no longer holds the same appeal. This my darling’s  is the peril of singledom.
So he got wind of my new found status and rang me. And we had a perfectly lovely, why goodness it’s nice to know you are still alive kind of chat and I moaned a bit and talked in an evasive fashion I hoped told him I wouldn’t entertain him in a million years and he turned on the old charm a bit and I giggled a bit (out of girly politeness) and he started talking in an oddly smooth manner. And then the wife and baby he FORGOT TO MENTION got in the car and I put the phone down, and that as far as I was concerned was that.
But oh the world’s a funny old place. Want somebody with all your heart? Get tummy ache just thinking about him? Well wouldn’t you know it he will fall off the side of the earth.
Hope to never  have to think about  another again? Well lo and behold I guarantee he will be the one to ring you at six 0’clock  every single night on his way home from work, leaving mournful messages  about all your yesterdays and what a mess he’s made of his life and blah de blah de blah. He will ring you at quarter to three in the morning every Saturday night three weekends on the run, disturbing yor peace and waffling I Love You’s into the answer machine.  He will send numerous text messages you ignore throughout the working day and at the point when it is clear you couldn’t be less interested if you married his Dad, he will be the one who will ring you and leave a message informing you that he  has left his wife because he isn’t going to lose you twice in the space of one lifetime.
Well whoopy do. I mean really is the man deranged?? Do all men get to their mid thirties and go completely off their trollies? Is it me?? I haven’t spoke to him since the last time  he scared the life out of me in the middle of the night, by calling when the rest of the world is asleep (and I in a muddle answered because my sleepy brain told me someone must be dead!) and he has taken  my screechy “What??” and silence thereafter to mean that I love him and I need him and I miss him??
Wrong Matey. So very wrong. I miss somebody. But it isn’t you.
Please excuse me while I go and iron my thermal vest.