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Sleeping Under the Stairs

13 Oct

“I am sleeping under the stairs cause you r a dickhead. If you think you can be a good housewife then do it. But don’t shit on me for lack of house work on a month I have more work than you … Fuck off”

This would be a direct copy of what I sent MYSELF last night, after too much wine, as I lay in my little nest under the stairs. Yes, in that space I transformed for my kids to play in, so they had a cool little hut and gettaway, but alas, which they hardly ever bloody use unless friends come around – who all think its super cool.

I guess you could call me a bit of a lazy housewife. Just a bit mind you. If you ask anyone that comes over they will probably say the house is kept well enough. But then they don’t look for shit like hub does. It’s not like he’s going out of his way but he does have very special selective horse blinker sight. He tends to view windows, and the genkan (main entrance –  which I tend not to give a rats ass about cause really the only people who stay longer than a minute in there are the Jehovah witness lady who used to sit on the step with Granny K, while the two of them got out their magnifying glasses and she explained random bits of a religion Granny K had no interest in but just couldn’t say no, and the old vestling dude from down the road who I think just likes looking at my tits – definitely has no interest in how the shoes are lined up anyway), and the bloody bathroom.

The bathroom isn’t a manking mess. It’s a Japanese wet room after all. It self cleans itself every fuckin day – by which I mean the kids hose it down and get soap everywhere, but I’m sure it wont be long before Japanese wet rooms really are self-cleaning. But fuck, the rail on the sliding door into the bathroom is perhaps a bit manking. I agree. Its one of those ten minute jobs us housewives know have to get done and which never get done because there are a mountain of more imminent and serious jobs that need doing – for the sake of family peace and well-being. Like cleaning pee off the toilet door, and scrubbing chalk pictures of poo off the front porch. They. Are. Just. More. Pressing.

In my book.

Hub has a completely different book and last night he opened it up and proceeded to tell me, directly, how if he was a housewife he would be so much better. I get it. He hates the washing pile on the couch, the fact Shou can’t find his spikes the day before soccer (also my fault of course), and the dirty manky door rail bit to the bathroom. But for the love of fucking god man, do I not think he’d be skiving off to pachinko and the boat races (his new thing) if he was a housewife?

Gahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. I tried to tell him that the first shit I do in my day is the normal shit that just has to be done. Ya know. Cleaning up after the kids, washing the dishes, doing the laundry, vacuuming, making sure we can eat, airing out the bedding, separating the garbage.. rah rah. I don’t particularly like cleaning the bathroom, although because it is a wet room I do clean it completely naked – which amuses hub. But really. If you have to wipe down the roof and the walls you may as well be naked. Besides, we have good water pressure so it can be an enjoyable task.

I told hub, after too much wine, that he could fuck off. I did agree that even I think watching the Mentalist and Grays Anatomy in the middle of the day is up there with bon-bon guzzling daytime soap watching lazy housewives BUT, he is not allowed to utter a word about housework during a month I have translation work that amounts to a 40 hour week. Nope, nah, shut it. Put a fuckin cork in it. Not having a bar of it.

Why I decided to make a nest of futons under the stairs is beyond me – perhaps I thought it would be a laugh if he woke up and couldn’t find me, thought I’d left kind of thing.

Ha ha.

I woke up about 1am, wondered where the fuck I was, and pulled my nest out to the altar room – the usual room of choice when one of us needs to try and prove just how fucked off we are with the other.  I think I must have txted myself so I would know why I was sleeping in between a fan, a book shelf and a desk loaded with lego, all enclosed in walls about 2m by 1m.

Quite a shame really, as yesterday morning started out with morning international relations – of which there have been very few lately – while the kids watched cartoons and played with lego downstairs.

And tonight? Hub is still convinced I know were Shou’s soccer spikes are. I don’t think I do, but then it did take me more than 24 hours to find the iPad after I ‘put it in a safe place’ after too much wine last week. But why would I hide his spikes? I haven’t seen them for weeks cause Shou hasn’t played a game for weeks.

Hub’s out when he is feeling like he is the only one capable of doing anything right – fuck it, why did I marry a B-gata (blood type). You’re all fucking selfish useless pricks.

To which I remind him that at least he has Ryu. Best the man start molding the boy to check for mold and dirt in the genkan now.

SDGH&QL

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Mrs D Is Going Without

Too much wine in rural Japan