Week Twenty Three

This week I said something absolutely mortifying in Italian. How unlike me.

Monday 8th March

Today is my lovely sister Hazel's birthday, but more importantly in the global scheme of things, it is International Wimmin's Day. This is taken very seriously here in Italia. Wimmin all over the country will be gettin a little bunch of yellow flowers from their nearest and dearest greasy eyetalian man.

Not me though.

At first I didn't even know it was International Wimmin's Day, but when I rolled over, bleary eyed this morning BBB was standing next to the bed and goes:

"Best Wishes Love."

"For what?" says I.

"It's International Women's Day", says he.

"Oh. Right. Thanks....zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz."

That day we were in town and there were fellas lining every street selling those little bunches of yellow flowers. Every fella walking past had a bunch of them to bring home to the missus. That's when I copped on that it was such a big deal. BBB said he was bringing me to my favourite shop to buy me something nice and I was pleased. I kept expecting him to stop and pick up the yellow flowers though.

Something you should know: I LOVE flowers. I love them. They are so lovely even just looking at them puts me in a good humour for the day. And if a delivery man comes to the door with said flowers? Well then. You are just in me good books for the rest of your life then, aren't you?

So we went to my favourite shop and he bought me a lovely pair of satin jim jam knicks-style shorts. As I type I am having a sexual love affair with them. No go on the flower front though.

On the way to the pub then he goes:

"I hates buying girls flowers, so I does."

Oh dear.

"I like to give presents that last, flowers only die."

"Right. That might cause a few problems then, seeing as I love getting flowers."

"Do you? Shit! Don't worry, I'll get you loads from now on."

That's more like it.

Tuesday 9th March

It was absolutely freezing today and then in the evening it started to snow. And snow. And snow. And then snow a bit more. Approximately eleventy million foot of snow fell.

While BBB was at outdoor soccer training, it should be noted.

Hates that, boy!

I am so over this whole snow thing. It was deadly at first, but then it gave me the worst cold ever, rendering me completely and utterly over it. I am so ready for my lovely Spring coat.

Piss off snow! I want to eat strawberries outside!

Wednesday 10th March

Now it should be well drummed into yer heads by now that I hate snoring. I cannot cope with having a snorer within a square mile of me.

After BBB stood on goal for an hour and a half in the snow, naturally he had a terrible case of the sniffles that night in the bed. And I had a terrible case of the Axe Murderers. He was doing earth rumbling snores into the back of my head and I couldn't take it any more. The Night Time Crazies struck.

"Jesus CHRIST!"

"W..what? What happened?" he says, still half asleep.

"You're snoring the ear off me head!"

"I am not snoring! I am breathing."

Oh he was breathing alright. Through a fuckin trombone by the sounds of it.

Thursday 11th March

Lads can we talk for a minute? There has been something playing on my mind a lot lately, since BBB officially moved into my room.

It's...it's....

It's the toilet brush.

When I moved in here I had to fill out a checklist for the office, ticking off all the stuff that was in the room.

Chairs...tick!

Waste paper basket...tick!

Toilet brush....oh no.

They put a toilet brush in every room. Which means that the person who lived in the room before you's poo particles are still thriving in your bathroom.

I mean, I just don't believe in toilet brushes. They are filthy. They are full of poo like. It just lurks there in the bristles, festering. So I happily hid it behind the toilet so I never have to look at it and become upset.

I believe that Domestos and lashings of it is the way to go on the toilet cleaning situation. Leave it in there overnight and if you die of toxic fume inhalation in the night, at least you can rest easy knowing your toilet is sparkly clean and fresh, should the paramedics need to wee.

I just cannot get my brain around "cleaning" your toilet with a toilet brush.

Anyway since BBB moved in, it has happened a few times that I go into the bathroom and it's there. Out from its dark corner behind the toilet. Basking in the warm tungsten glow of the bathroom light. Challenging me.

And because the shower head is in the main part of the bathroom, ie it is a shower head sticking out of the wall, when you use the shower water goes everywhere, including into the end of the toilet brush holder if it is not in its safe dark place. This results in a murky, shitty soup lurking stagnant in the end of the toilet brush holder.

Lads I'm upset.

Plus I can't do anything when it is in view. Like, every time I go in there I feel like it's looking at me. It's like when you are bursting for a wee but you know there is a spider in the bathroom. You know it is at leaast 6 feet away from you, because you can clearly see it there, but you are afraid to make even the tiniest of movements in case you touch off it and it runs its filthy hands all over your body.

I have to stop now, it's all gettin a bit much for me.

Friday 12th March

Today Ailbhe kindly informed me via facebook that my blog had been shortlisted in all three categories it was nominated in.

Delighted, isa?

Did a dance, did I?

Yup!

The Blog Awards will be on the 27th March, but I was after booking my ticket home for Easter for the 31st March, because I didn't have a notion of when they'd be on, shur. I'm goin mad now though. It would have been some laugh to head up. I hear there does be some drunken tomfoolery going on up there, horseplay even. I do enjoy a bit of horseplay.

Sigh.

Saturday 13th March

Had a tremendous argument with BBB today. Went off to seek sanctuary in Laura's house. Then we went and did a bit of retail therapy. Well she did, I watched.

I eventually headed home to find a ginormous bunch of flowers on my pillow. They were tulips, my favourite. And there was a yellow rose in the middle of them, which I prophetically explained to BBB on Monday means 'sorry'. They were gorgeous.

I wanted to fuck them out the window though.

Sunday 14th March

All is well in the woodshed again. I spent the day sorting out my Etsy shop and in the evening we went to the pub for drinks and snacks and while we were there I made another linguistic faux pas. My best so far, if I do say so myself!

We were sitting in a snug with some other couple (I hate that about Italian pubs - they always seat other people up in your feckin ockster) and BBB was naming out animals in English and I had to say the Italian names.

"Cow! Pig! etc" he goes, and I was calling out the answers.

Next question:

"Sheep!"

And I said, yes that's right, I actually called out:

"Pecorina!"

And I didn't even realise what I was after saying until BBB was bent double with the laughing and the couple next to us were averting their eyes uncomfortably.

That's because the Italian word for sheep is actually pecora, and what I called out was pecorina, which means doggy style.

Let me die.