Day 91
Today went well.
By “well” what I mean is that I managed to spend a significant amount of time with three females on a shopping trip without strangling any of them or dropping them in a river with several lead weights tied to their ankles. In every other respect it was a complete fucking disaster.
The highlight of my day was being dragged out of bed at 6.30am after getting virtually no sleep. From there it went downhill.
After jumping under the shower and throwing some clothes on, I tottered downstairs to get a couple of mouthfuls of breakfast before departing for the shops. Mrs. Snowman interrupted me with a distasteful look and equally objectionable enquiry:
“Are you really wearing that?”
As a pair of jeans, jogging top and sports shoes seemed perfectly adequate for the occasion I didn’t really understand the question.
“Er…yep, why?”
“Because we’re going out. Go and put some proper clothes on”
I’ve no idea what the definition of “proper clothes” are in this context but I trudged back to the bedroom and changed into a pair of tailored trousers and a roll neck sweater. I got halfway back down the stairs and saw the wife standing at the bottom with her arms folded, shaking her head and making tutting noises like a broken metronome so thought I better ask the question.
“What am I supposed to wear, a Superman costume and a Marilyn Munroe wig?”
“Don’t be so stupid, just find a suit”
As I was still half-asleep I complied with her wishes even though I couldn’t see why I had to get tarted-up simply to be dragged round the shops.
Eventually, Surrogate Daughter appeared with Small Child and after a short battle we managed to crowbar it into the safety seat in the back of the car and set off.
Mother-in-law started a conversation before I started the car and didn’t draw breath until we got to the car park, continuing to talk regardless of who else joined in.
The first three hours were spent trying to locate every shop with even the most tenuous of connections to babies. When we entered them, we didn’t leave again until every single item had been fingered and checked.
Stupidly, I enquired what they intended to buy.
“Oh, we’re just looking” they replied in unison.
With remarkable self-control I refrained from asking if it was for the lost treasure of the Knights Templar.
Having walked around all morning and purchased absolutely nothing, they thankfully decided it was time for lunch. A well-known pizza restaurant received our custom with my suggestion of a pub being completely ignored.
Small Child started to scream the moment we walked through the door. I think it hit top C at least once and several glasses were in imminent danger of shattering across the tables. A worried looking waitress showed us to our seats and told us to help ourselves to a buffet starter. I tried to edge my chair away from the racket but every time I managed to get it a couple of feet from the table the wife grabbed hold of it and dragged me back again.
Surrogate Daughter carried Small Child (who had momentarily stopped squawking) across the room, queued patiently for her turn, picked up a plate, started to get her food…and Small Child was sick into the salad bar.
Although it went into the sweet corn and part of the garlic mayonnaise (and would therefore have been virtually undetectable) an eagle-eyed waitress spotted the offence and came running over to close down the section.
Amazingly, we weren’t thrown out and other than two families requesting refunds we ate a very quick meal and made a very hasty tactical retreat.
The afternoon was spent searching for birthday presents. Please note the last sentence contained a noun in the plural. I was finally ground into submission and Surrogate Daughter started the return journey with a smile on her face and a laptop computer, a digital video camera and a new cell phone in her bag.
I bought myself a bottle of Southern Comfort to act as a tranquilizer.
We finally managed to get home in the late afternoon and the females went immediately to work unwrapping boxes of electrical equipment.
I shut myself in the bedroom with my newly purchased medication.
You will not be surprised to hear I didn’t play any poker today as I was still in a state of shock. Although I intend to enter a couple of tournaments in the early hours of the morning, at the time of writing these words I was certainly not in the correct frame of mind. Hopefully I can give you a positive report tomorrow.
One final incident from today occurred later in the evening.
It was George Bernard Shaw that said, “England and America are two countries separated by a common language”.
No kidding.
Whilst lying on the bed I made a quick phone call to a friend of mine across the pond and proved the point beyond any doubt by making a complete arse of myself.
There are perfectly innocent words used in England that have a totally different connotation in the States. For example, for those of you that don’t know, another word for a cigarette is a fag…
I was in the middle of talking when I momentarily stuttered and unadvisedly explained the reason for my pause.
“Sorry about that, I’ve got a fag in my mouth”
A short, but very worried silence followed.
“Er…um…if you’re busy shall I call you back later?”
I probably didn’t do myself any favors with the response,
“No, that’s ok, I’ve just finished it off”
Sometimes when I start digging myself a hole I should remember to throw the shovel away.
Starting bank: $0
Current bank: $5.81
By “well” what I mean is that I managed to spend a significant amount of time with three females on a shopping trip without strangling any of them or dropping them in a river with several lead weights tied to their ankles. In every other respect it was a complete fucking disaster.
The highlight of my day was being dragged out of bed at 6.30am after getting virtually no sleep. From there it went downhill.
After jumping under the shower and throwing some clothes on, I tottered downstairs to get a couple of mouthfuls of breakfast before departing for the shops. Mrs. Snowman interrupted me with a distasteful look and equally objectionable enquiry:
“Are you really wearing that?”
As a pair of jeans, jogging top and sports shoes seemed perfectly adequate for the occasion I didn’t really understand the question.
“Er…yep, why?”
“Because we’re going out. Go and put some proper clothes on”
I’ve no idea what the definition of “proper clothes” are in this context but I trudged back to the bedroom and changed into a pair of tailored trousers and a roll neck sweater. I got halfway back down the stairs and saw the wife standing at the bottom with her arms folded, shaking her head and making tutting noises like a broken metronome so thought I better ask the question.
“What am I supposed to wear, a Superman costume and a Marilyn Munroe wig?”
“Don’t be so stupid, just find a suit”
As I was still half-asleep I complied with her wishes even though I couldn’t see why I had to get tarted-up simply to be dragged round the shops.
Eventually, Surrogate Daughter appeared with Small Child and after a short battle we managed to crowbar it into the safety seat in the back of the car and set off.
Mother-in-law started a conversation before I started the car and didn’t draw breath until we got to the car park, continuing to talk regardless of who else joined in.
The first three hours were spent trying to locate every shop with even the most tenuous of connections to babies. When we entered them, we didn’t leave again until every single item had been fingered and checked.
Stupidly, I enquired what they intended to buy.
“Oh, we’re just looking” they replied in unison.
With remarkable self-control I refrained from asking if it was for the lost treasure of the Knights Templar.
Having walked around all morning and purchased absolutely nothing, they thankfully decided it was time for lunch. A well-known pizza restaurant received our custom with my suggestion of a pub being completely ignored.
Small Child started to scream the moment we walked through the door. I think it hit top C at least once and several glasses were in imminent danger of shattering across the tables. A worried looking waitress showed us to our seats and told us to help ourselves to a buffet starter. I tried to edge my chair away from the racket but every time I managed to get it a couple of feet from the table the wife grabbed hold of it and dragged me back again.
Surrogate Daughter carried Small Child (who had momentarily stopped squawking) across the room, queued patiently for her turn, picked up a plate, started to get her food…and Small Child was sick into the salad bar.
Although it went into the sweet corn and part of the garlic mayonnaise (and would therefore have been virtually undetectable) an eagle-eyed waitress spotted the offence and came running over to close down the section.
Amazingly, we weren’t thrown out and other than two families requesting refunds we ate a very quick meal and made a very hasty tactical retreat.
The afternoon was spent searching for birthday presents. Please note the last sentence contained a noun in the plural. I was finally ground into submission and Surrogate Daughter started the return journey with a smile on her face and a laptop computer, a digital video camera and a new cell phone in her bag.
I bought myself a bottle of Southern Comfort to act as a tranquilizer.
We finally managed to get home in the late afternoon and the females went immediately to work unwrapping boxes of electrical equipment.
I shut myself in the bedroom with my newly purchased medication.
You will not be surprised to hear I didn’t play any poker today as I was still in a state of shock. Although I intend to enter a couple of tournaments in the early hours of the morning, at the time of writing these words I was certainly not in the correct frame of mind. Hopefully I can give you a positive report tomorrow.
One final incident from today occurred later in the evening.
It was George Bernard Shaw that said, “England and America are two countries separated by a common language”.
No kidding.
Whilst lying on the bed I made a quick phone call to a friend of mine across the pond and proved the point beyond any doubt by making a complete arse of myself.
There are perfectly innocent words used in England that have a totally different connotation in the States. For example, for those of you that don’t know, another word for a cigarette is a fag…
I was in the middle of talking when I momentarily stuttered and unadvisedly explained the reason for my pause.
“Sorry about that, I’ve got a fag in my mouth”
A short, but very worried silence followed.
“Er…um…if you’re busy shall I call you back later?”
I probably didn’t do myself any favors with the response,
“No, that’s ok, I’ve just finished it off”
Sometimes when I start digging myself a hole I should remember to throw the shovel away.
Starting bank: $0
Current bank: $5.81
