Monday, January 30, 2012

Husbands - can't live with them, probably shouldn't live without them!

T'husband is away on a fishing trip.  He is sunning himself somewhere in southern India attempting to catch some type of fish I had never heard of, and cannot begin to spell.  I am left at home holding the non-proverbial baby.

As it happens I'm not jealous.  I've been to India before and have no real desire to return. I am especially glad I'm not there having read a text from t'husband telling me he'd just seen a dead body float down the river and then get eaten by a crocodile (I am however checking the life insurance policy - just in case).

It's been rather nice, just the three of us.  We've stayed up later than normal and on Saturday night all shared the family bed for a big cuddlefest.

However, I have slipped very quickly into some seriously slovenly ways.  The usual Saturday blitz of the house was relegated to a quick sweep, my no carbs after breakfast degenerated into a diet so laden down with carbs that my belly has swollen back to its 6 months pregnant state. I have drank too much wine and stayed up way past my bedtime. Oh, and I may or may not have washed my hair for 3 days.

The most worrying turn of events though, is my television viewing.  Without the constant background of Sky Sports News on a loop I have had free reign with the remote control.  This has resulted in me watching some truly appalling car-crash TV.   From watching 3 episodes back to back of the stunningly atrocious Geordie Shore on both Friday and Saturday night, to tuning into the various 'fat person becomes thinner person' type of program—usually whilst stuffing my face with some item from the 'white' food group, my television viewing has got me alarmed.
High-brow viewing

Given that t'husband doesn't return for another week, I fear for myself.  At this rate I will have the Kardashians on series link and be tweeting about #thebiggestloseraustralia by midweek.

For the sake of both my health and sanity I am wishing the t'husband a speedy return (along with the return of my i-pad).  My apparent lack of self-control clearly needs taking to task and with a man about the house I am obviously forced to keep up a certain level of appearance and personal hygiene.  So much for feminism eh?