I have learnt, too late, the secret to having a tidy home. Do not have children or pets. Anyone reading this, who hasn’t yet dabbled with either of the fore mentioned, take this as a warning and keep away from the opposite sex, oh and the pet shop. I have given up with having nice stuff, people should come to my home expecting it to be a messy shrine to my children, you know the view; Crayon drawings on the wallpaper, juice stains on the carpet, toys littering every inch of floor space and in the midst of it all the family dog sprawled out so as to take up as much room as is humanly possible.
It isn’t like I have just given up, far from it. I get up every morning and serve breakfast, clean the dishes, wipe the surfaces and hoover throughout. It is just that by the time I have finished the housework the mess has begun. In fact as I hoover from one side of the front room to the other a whirlwind, by the name of Harrison, is already following closely behind with those irritating obstacles that are more commonly known as toys.
I have been on anti-depressants since having Harrison. I tried a brief spell without them, however I found it most difficult to bite my tongue. I was pregnant with Layla at the time and some poor woman who bumped me with her trolley, whilst shopping, got a mouthful and had she uttered one word back I think I would have needed to be carted out by the men in white coats. A complete over reaction? Yes, most definitely. But not completely uncalled for. You see she bumped me twice. I hadn’t moved was still standing in the exact same spot as I was the first time her trolley clipped my back end. Had she apologised I would not have had the sudden urge to exclaim “EXCUSE ME WOULD SUFFICE!” at the top of my voice. She looked at me with a look that can only be described as the way in which a restaurant critic would look at burnt offerings. I was less than impressed by this and had we been anywhere other than the supermarket I might have done something I possibly would have regretted later on. So instead, in my if you do not get out of my face I’m going to do something you’ll regret voice, I said “keep walking.” She did and that was fine. Well not exactly, you see later on I spotted her talking to, one would assume, a friend. I could control myself no longer and proceeded towards her, my bump thrust out like a weapon, my eyes boiling with anger and my chest so inflated, with my shoulders so far back, that I could have easily been mistaken for pigeon. “So you can talk then?” I didn’t give her the chance to answer. “Shame you cannot apologise when ramming pregnant woman with your trolley.” Still no pause for any response. “Or do you pick on pregnant woman because you know they are extremely unlikely to react?” Her face began to glow red. “Well, you picked on the wrong pregnant lady, I suggest you think again before being such an ignorant cow!” I turned triumphantly and in my mind plotted finding her car in the car park and writing in lipstick across the windscreen an unpleasant surprise. Sadly I had no idea which car would have been hers, nor did I have any lipstick.
Well I’m off the tablets again!!! Ever since the trial period with out my daily dose, my doctor accepts my repeat prescription no questions asked. Just recently my doctors surgery has merged with another and instead of my request for more tabs falling on my own doctor’s lap it fell on that of a complete stranger. Does this imbecile not know my need for this drug? I suspect he will do when I go steaming in there with out an appointment and park my backside in his office and refuse to leave until my prescription is written. Although it has been a couple of days since my last pill and still I haven’t actually come to blows with anyone, so I’ll save the hijacking of the doctors surgery, for now.