Week Eighteen

Saturday May 10th

Ok now Jenniky, we must remain sensible. Overwhelming feelings of love and adoration for Husband DO NOT mean that one has to give up entirely on one’s lifelong dream of marrying The Rock.

Party in Fran’s house tonight. Myself and Husband head down to the supermarket to get some stuff to try out this lovely recipe for finger food for Fran’s house. Look at us, sharing a keen interest in cooking. No, Jenniky, NO! We mustn’t get caught up in the burning passion we feel for Husband, even if he is a total RIDE. I’m not joking. He is a fucking wet dream. Oh GOD! Must put a stop to this. I’m very busy at the moment, too busy for this kind of carry on.

Make the skewers, head to party where said skewers go down a treat. Accidentally on purpose drink WAY too much prosecco, too much to even notice that another girl is taking a special interest in Husband. Head out into town, on the way Husband starts up approximately 47 fights with me. Now, when I say “fights” I mean him giving out to me for some imagined scenario that he has made up in his curly head and me going “yes, dear, yes, yes, ok” until he finally gets over it (4 nanoseconds later) and starts apologizing profusely before starting off another one.

Get to bar, I’m talking to Fran and he is standing in bar (with aforementioned girl) calling me over. I go over and Girl is holding his hand. Riiiiiiight, I’ll be off then. But it turns out someone burned his hand and she is “helpfully” holding an ice cube on it. Yes, very helpful, seeming as his other hand must have been blown off in the fracas, and there is no way he could possibly hold it himself. Consider the possibility of being jealous for a moment, and then decide there is no point, as I actually quite like her. And who could blame her, when he is such a pure ride.

Rest of night a blur, can’t remember getting home. Remember snippets of Husband and I laughing our heads off, then looking deeply and meaningfully into each other’s eyes. Urgh, I could puke.

Sunday May 11th

Oh good Jesus Christ why have you abandoned me? I’m IN BITS. A dead body in the bed. Get up and run to loo and revisit the contents of my stomach. Crawl back to bed and start shout for Husband (I don’t take puking very well) and he is so comatose he cant hear me from like 2 feet away. Feel a burning hatred for him for about 3 seconds, before curling up and falling straight back asleep. A lost day.

Monday May 12th

Get up, fully recovered and Husband heads out adventuring for the day as I stay in, glued to my desk, studying up a storm. He comes home in the evening and we have a pizza and watch a picture all snuggled up. Just like any other happy couple….oh wait. WE ARE NOT A FRIGGIN COUPLE AND YOU ARE NOT INTERESTED JENNIKY GET A FUCKING GRIP.

Tuesday May 13th

Wake up, filled with dread, Husband is going home tomorrow and I don’t want him to go. Bottle up the feelings Jenniky, we must be strong. We mustn’t appear too eager. But I fail myself when I suddenly let out in a giant whinge “I don’t want you to goooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!” Well I think we can safely say the game’s up. I love him and I want to eat him for my dinner and be the hokey, there is no denying it. Just give in to the feelings. No more swanning around batting off admirers just because I simply couldn’t be bothered. Now I have a genuine excuse. Cancel his flights and rebook some new ones for Friday.

Wednesday May 14th

Lovefest. To the power of infinity. Impending cystitis.

Thursday May 15th

Stuff his suitcase, with a heavy heart. But not really, cos I’m stuffing his suitcase with all my stuff that I don’t want to drag home for myself. Have a jaunt around town, me battling opposing emotions (I want to marry him and have his babies vs. I want to be FREEEEEEEEEEE)
Marrying him and having his babies wins out in the end, though. Obviously. (Did I mention he is a RIDE? Ridey ridey ride ride. Good Lord the man is gorgeous.)


Friday 16th May

Wake up at 6am and TEAR myself out of bed, where, just to spite myself, I woke up at 5.30 and rolled over into the most snuggliest, loveliest and most comfortable position I have ever been in in my long-legged life. Oh the torture! Drag my feet to the bus stop with Husband head off to the bus station so he can catch his bus to the airport. Sniff! The minute it comes I'm just like "see ya now" and peg it off in the opposite direction. Goodbyes - I don't be able! I'm only small shur.

Walk home in the lovely morning sunshine and when I get home and walk into my room there is a lovely smell of Husband there. Pang of heart agony as I realise I have to get through these next few weeks with noone to do the washing up after me. Sigh.

That night, I am sitting at my desk studying away with the lamp on and the window open. Roommate kills me for doing this, as she says moths will fly in the window, and every time she has said this to me before Ive been like "whatever; home girl needs to breeeeeeeeeze", and then continued on with the window open. I mean it is so HOT, you would suffocate in here like. But on this fateful night, I learned my lesson, and by jove I learned it well.

Having retired to my bed, I was chatting away to Husband on the phone when I noticed a kind of scrabbling noise coming from the vicinity of the lamp, accompanied by huge shadows dancing across the wall. My blood ran cold - it could only be...a moth! Or a "night butterfly" as Roommate calls them. I try to remain calm and continue the conversation, telling myself I can deal with the gulp..moth afterwards, but it then emerges from the lamp and reveals itself to me as a hairy winged terror from the black lagoon. The minute I saw it my skin crawled to the other side of the room and I swiftly hung up and fled. Upon my swift exit, I met Roommate in the hall who was making her way into the room. "Don't go in there!" I said. She looks at me as if to say "Why?" "What is the worst thing that could ever happen?" I asked her. Her eyes widened in terror "Oh no!" she cried, "Eggy fart?" Eggy fart? Eggy fart, people! In English she said it and everything. Oh how I laughed! But then when I told her what it was and would she mind getting rid of it she just said "No fucking way, I'm sleeping in the kitchen." That's when I knew the arduous task was up to me. I must take on this fearful winged nemesis. I reached a trembling hand to the door handle, and slowly, slowly, opened the door a tiny crack. I could hear it scrabbling around in the lamp. I pushed the door ever so slightly and made to enter, clad solely in santa boxers and a vest, brandishing a flip flop, with Roommate clinging to my other arm like those little koala souvenirs from Australia with their pinchy arms that cling onto curtains and the like. I could still hear him scrabbling around. I took a careful step into the room. And then...silence. He was on to me. He was perched on the lampshade, looking straight at me. Our eyes met, my blue ones with his hairy ones. I could tell by his face what he wanted - he wanted to rub his hairy body all over my silky one. He wanted to kiss and caress me with his hairy moth lips. We stared at each other. He knew my game. I knew his. It was game on.

He immediately took flight over my head and Roommate ran screaming out into the hall, while I danced around the room like a boxer in the ring, wishing that instead of my havaiana flip flop I could have Roommate's, if only for it's sheer sonic power. Then finally, finally, he foolishly landed on the ground and BLAM! I squooshed him good and proper. His little hairy moth soul went to the big lightbulb in the sky. I am never opening the window AGAIN.