I cannot sleep of late. I fantasise about a night of solid, deep, restful sleep. Take the desert islands and the lottery wins and shove 'em where the sun don't shine...I'd take a full night of sleepy-sleeps over just about anything right now. It is, perhaps, due to my insomnia that I am unusually irritable at the moment, and there is a certain person who is really making me want to bitch slap her a couple of times, and maybe push her down a small flight of stairs.
She is basically a decent human being, and a good portion of the time, I even kind of like her (although I sure as hell feel sorry for her husband, but that's another story.) I don't know her all that well, but in the short association we've had, I've felt on more than one occasion my hands floating towards her neck of her own free will. She does not try and hide the fact that she has some grave reservations about me, my person and my perceived shortcomings. Tit for tat, annoying person, tit for tat...
She is, however, incredibly nice to my girls, who kind of think she's the Second Coming. This is a good deal of the problem. She thinks that children are the centre of the universe, and that they are all inherently angelic, fascinating beings who give off auras of saintliness that would put Padre Pio to shame. I need to state here that I am still a reasonable mother, despite the fact that I do not wait with baited breath for every utterance to fall from my children's lips, and I that I do not treat these utterances as always original and thrilling contributions to the annals of human history (as she does).
Furthermore, just because I know my way around the business end of a lipstick, and do not (usually) dress like a homeless person does not make me some kind of domestic anti-Christ. She gave me a bag of apples from her mum's tree once, and then proceeded to tell me, in the manner of addressing the profoundly retarded, that I might make apple crumble with them, and told me step by excruciating step just how I might go about that terribly challenging task. I wanted to clout her about the face with her stupid bag of apples. Apple goddamned crumble, I ask you... my dad could probably do it if he had to, and he is hard pressed to heat up his Hungry Man dinners when my mum's away.
Well, got that off my chest, and am feeling marginally less pissy. Whether I'll sleep is anybody's guess, and if I don't, who the hell knows who's gonna get skewered here tomorrow...
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2 comments:
Yuck, this woman sounds like an epic asshole to me, even if she is nice to children. She probably makes shitty apple crisp anyhow.
Oooh- you should make her a zombie-slave!
Just to make formal note, the person in question is NOT my sister....she was a little worried, but the making of apple crumble reference ought to have eased her fears.
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