Tuesday, 9 May 2017
In which I plan the demise of the old duffer...
I knew I should have got a cat instead. I don't actually even like men. Not that I like women either. In fact the whole human race is getting right on my tits at the mo.
Not that I'd actually have one in the house full time ever again (man, not cat)
Overnight houseguest is currently snoring and wheezing his fecking head off. Which is fine if you're being wheeled back to your secure retirement home on the morrow, but not if, like me, you'll be spending upwards of four hours spoonfeeding cadavers.
Having one in the house full time can lead to an unpleasant aroma hanging in the air, particularly in the lavatory and the boudoir.
Having discussed this problem with female chums, it would appear that they all exude rancid fumes throughout the night.
A particular line spoken in an Elizabeth Montgomery film has long resonated with me...
'If I had enough money to take care of myself I'd never have another man in my life.'
Ain't that the truth! Not that the ones I attract have any money, hence me shovelling shite for time immemorial.
AND they leave their stinky clothes all over the floor.
AND they dribble pee on the floor around the lavatory (if you're lucky enough to even get one that lifts the seat)
I remember a conversation had with vile ex-husband when first we were betrothed...
'Take yer shoes and socks of ' says I.
'Why?' retorts he.
'Because I'm going to piss on your feet!'
'How so?' he enquired.
'Because every time I visit the loo I end up wading in pee where your aim has gone awry.'
I swear, Dear Reader, I reckon he just used to walk down the hall and just pee in the general direction of the bathroom.
But, I shouldn't revile the memory of past husbands or cats.
And, do excuse me, I'm just going to smother the Ancient Mariner with a pillow...