Oh it’s a funny old life. Two month’s after Mark left, Kath’s husband packed up his little suitcase and disappeared off into the yonder after him.
All of a sudden we were single Mummies, and I went from feeling like the most deserted woman on the planet to feeling like I had a partner in crime on the verge of a big adventure…
So ok it’s hardly an adventure and there have been far too many nights sat sobbing together over a
Hormones compromise our sanity. We take turns alternatively being strong and weeping all over our matching Laura Ashley rugs. We moan about the kids because we are their Mums and it is our perogative. We dream of January when they will toddle off to afternoon daycare on a daily basis while we get hyper on super strong coffee. And above all else we analyse every daft thing our ex partners say and declare ourselves well rid…
Of course we are not the same. We have each handled the shock that is sudden desertion in our own way. Kath is dignified. Quietly and oh so justifiably disgusted with her husbands behavior. Given to cooking portions of food to leave on my doorstep, and tidying her wardrobe at two o’clock in the morning. I talk too much. Fall apart a bit. Tell the world everything I think and feel. Make friends with Mark and fall dramatically, stupid in love with someone else…
We hate Saturdays. Saturdays are Daddy days and all of a sudden we are surplus to requirements. Not welcome on the weekly visits to the pictures, or the park, or indeed on the obligatory visits to McDonalds. So instead we entertain ourselves.
We eat vats of popcorn in the cinema watching bad films Kath must take responsibilty for. We trail around Marks and Spencers choosing organic banana’s and worrying about whether there will be any parma ham left on the shelves. We drink more coffee than is necessary and debate the merits of drinking red wine in the afternoons. We giggle. We moan. We cry. And sometimes like today we nearly fall into our shopping trolleys laughing.
We are Waitrose girls. But she makes me do bad things. And today doing bad things meant venturing into the hellhole that is Aldi (strange, cheap, European supermarket) and leaving our snobbery at the door. Getting excited about foriegn looking
Then it was a quick dash through the rain to a snuggly pub with coal fires, a shared plate of antipasti, and some twinkly
Now I am here.And she is fifteen doors down the road. The babba’s are in bed, and although on nights like tonight it feels as if the whole world is out having a good time, there is something super snuggly about eating bad chocolate with Casualty and a pile of magazine’s and knowing that within two minutes either of us could be at the others, baby in a sleeping