Mid-Life Crisis

by T. Jessop

  Friday 27th January 2014

  Hairdresser 5pm.

  Andy and Jess arrived home from Yarmouth around three, safe and sound.

  I had to force Joe to have his hair cut today. What is it with men? They’re either over-immaculate or damn right scruffy. Apparently he doesn’t like the way the hairdresser pulls he’s head around. WTF, man up, mate!

  Why did I have to force him? Surely he’s supposed to make an effort to appear attractive to me?

  Saturday 28th January 2014

  Joe, still miffed for having to go to the barbers, has taken great pleasure in reminding me that my roots need doing as all my grey is showing. Childish. I used to complain about going grey young but a dose of alopecia teaches you to love whatever hair you have. It’s Mum’s family that passes the premature hair colour; to think I used to joke that it could have been worse and I’d taken after Dad and gone bald. Not funny now.

  Is it me, or does everyone else seem so much younger than me?

  No Julie about this weekend: she’s gone away with Danny, he being the boss of the rival law firm. He’s so arrogant he actually thinks she knocks about with him for his looks; it’s not a coincidence then that 2% of his clients have been scouted to her firm since she’s been seeing him.

  Sunday 29th January 2014

  Sunday market.

  I have come to the conclusion that there is no sexier smell than that of fresh washing. After all these years, Joe still thinks it’s a little weird that I sniff the laundry as I empty it from the machine, when I hang it on the line, and after I iron it. Hmm, maybe I am a little weird.

  Chris has gone to the Sunday market. I await her return with my nice greasy pineapple fritter.

  Monday 30th January 2014

  Joe football.

  Shopping.

  Christine went to the doctors at the crack of dawn this morning after noticing a dry patch on the back of her hand, being the acute worrier she is and none too bright. When the doctor said she had scabies she flipped and shouted, ‘I ain’t never been on a boat!’By the time she’d rung me approx. fifteen minutes later after leaving the surgery she had already consumed six oranges. Whilst trying to console her amid my Snickers she then confessed she’d written to an agony aunt enquiring about assisted suicide, no less, lol. How sad when she has us. Wished I hadn’t rung Elizabeth, she’s now asking if mental illness runs in my family. She bollocked me for laughing as I should be a little more concerned as to the state of my sister’s mind, as this could be a cry for help. Chloe as ever sprang to my defence with the ‘state the obvious’: Chris is and always will be a neurotic hypochondriac. Only then asked: did my mum have an affair? As the rest of my family are not like that. Then wet herself laughing as the penny dropped concerning the six oranges and the boat: that Chris had thought the doctor meant scurvy. What a div !

  Note to self: Must ask Mum if she did have an affair.

  Tuesday 31st January 2014

  Mum’s for lunch 12pm.

  Met Mum for lunch. Sadly no affair. Mum also said none of us should worry about Chris needing assistance to end her own life, as she believes Chris will worry herself dead long before needing a one-way ticket to Switzerland.

  Mmm pie ‘n mash for dinner covered in lovely oozy green liquor. Joe will no doubt stare in disbelief as me and the kids devour our favourite meal; he thinks it’s disgusting. You haven’t lived, buddy. This is the same man who eats jam and cheese sandwiches, skank.

  Wednesday 1st February 2014

  Hairdresser 5pm.

  Chris has rushed to the doctors again this morning; she’d had the fright of her life when she’d passed blood. Diagnosis: piles, probably brought on by all the fruit she’s been eating, lol. The doctor has assured her she wouldn’t be needing a transfusion. Chloe nearly died laughing when I called her and Elizabeth on the other hand has informed me that bleeding can be a sign of something very serious and it’s by far not a laughing matter. Alright, Gloomy Glad, fuck’s sake. Does she ever see the funny side of anything? Apart from hypocondriacitus Chris has got bugger all wrong with her, serious or non-serious.

  Leigh had a look at ‘the bald patch’ with a magnifying glass, sadistic little mare. She insisted she can see tiny black stubbly hairs. Thank the gods; words cannot express how good that was to hear.

  Thursday 2nd February 2014

  Window cleaner.

  Thought Daisy was the cutest thing this afternoon, having raided the fridge of chocolate aided and abetted by Connor she was dancing round the kitchen and in the cutest voice kept saying ‘Kit Kat, Kit Kat’ and pointing at her cheeky face. Ten minutes later and still mumbling I noticed she was pointing at her nose not her mouth, stunned disbelief followed the discovery of a ball of foil from pilfered confectionary well and truly lodged up her left nostril. I fear Daisy may have inherited Chris’s defective gene, having done the same herself when she was six.

  We have a mouse somewhere in this house. I have spent the last hour searching the house to no avail. Joe’s arguing with me, saying it’s the washing machine or the tumble dryer squeaking. Although neither appliance has been on today. He had a nervous look in his eyes, me thinks he may be scared of wee rodents.

  Friday 3rd February 2014

  Dentist 9am.

  Girls’ night Abigail’s.

  Popped in Chris’s on the way back from the dentist, she was sat on one of the kid’s old rubber rings and there was a faint aroma of TCP emanating from her. Only stayed a little while as I began to feel that if I remained it was a matter of time before I would either laugh and take the piss, or punch her in the head for being such an imbecile. She better not bring the ‘ring’ round Abigail’s tonight.

  Why don’t quilt covers fit? Single, double, king size, don’t matter. You always have 6inches of excess material on one side serving no other purpose than to wrap around your feet while you sleep, entrapping your legs, causing you to wake in the night in a blind panic.

  No sign of the ‘ring’ tonight, instead we watched her shuffle about like an eighty-year-old .I don’t suffer with this ailment so on reflection maybe I’m being a little harsh. Given that the arse is watertight, to be having something stuck neither in nor out must be agony. The equivalent of putting your wedding ring round your wrist, lol. Got to smart a bit.

  Saturday 4th February 2014

  Patrick 37th birthday.

  It seems I’ve finally got me head together after all these years and now the body is falling apart. A simple thing like brushing my hair(what’s left of it): I couldn’t help but notice in the mirror that my arms were wobbling, at which point Tony walked past and said, ‘Nice bingos Mum.’

  Joe and the others are all at Flannigan’s tonight for his brother’s birthday.

  Sunday 5th February 2014

  Sunday market.

  Woke up with the right hump this morning. Unlike my sister I’m talking about my mood not an overnight curvature of the spine. I went to bed with a migraine, finally got to sleep around two when I was woken again by Joe crashing about in the fridge on return from Flannigan’s with a severe case of the munchies. I haven’t got a clue what time I got back to sleep but woke again around six feeling like I couldn’t breathe, only to discover Joe’s arm slumped across my chest. What’s the point of having a bed 6 foot by 5 foot when you’re both going to lay on 3 foot of it? I was sick of my own company by seven so I rang Chris and told her I’d meet her at the Sunday market. Surprisingly she hadn’t developed any new ailments and the morning was quite pleasant. Chris needed to pop in the supermarket to grab some bits she’d offered to cook for Charlie’s birthday party tomorrow.

  All was well until we got to the checkout where we were met by the most sour-faced individual, sulkily scanning each item then practically throwing them to the end where Chris was waiting to pack. I politely asked (Chris said I didn’t),‘Were you forced to work here?’‘Nah.’ ‘Then why the f
ucking attitude then? If you hate the job so much, if it’s too beyond you to be polite and professional, then fucking leave.’ Not sure if this is what drew the attention of the store manager, or my heightened outburst at Chris as she cowered and stupidly said, ‘Ssshhhh, you’re making a scene.’ I vaguely remember screaming at Chris to ‘Man up!’ and it all went a bit screwy from there. All I know is she got her shopping for free.

  Monday 6th February 2014

  Charlie’s 5th birthday party.

  Joe football.

  Chris has a gammy armpit: lumpy, itchy and sore, pretty grim, known in the trade as an ingrown hair. What’s with her at the moment? Everything’s growing in. First the toenail, now the hair; too bloody tight to give anything away that girl.

  Mate, hope there’s no vol-au-vents at the party, lol.

  Charlie’s party was fun: Penny had hired a magician. Joe watched intensely as trick after trick was performed, wide-eyed and intensely gripped. I remarked on this observation. Looking a bit embarrassed he replied, ‘Oh, I wasn’t really watching, I was lost in thought.’ If that was true then he was in very unfamiliar territory.

  Elizabeth has been away on yet another tennis weekend with the Stepford Wives; starting to feel a bit sorry for them all. For all Joe’s faults I wouldn’t want to be just passing ships.

  Tuesday 7th February 2014

  Shopping.

  Cinema.

  Watched Meet the Spartans on a rerun at the cinema, under sufferance as I thought it was gonna be an all-out macho film. I was pleasantly surprised, as it was a spoof. Thought it was the funniest thing I’ve seen for a long while, until it was topped by Joe mimicking the Spartans skipping all the way home, which took forever as I laughed myself almost to death. Leigh said she heard me from the end of the driveway, then looked a bit dumb when we’d said we’d been to the pictures, followed with, ‘Seriously showing your age. No one calls it that no more: it’s the cinema, Mum.’

  Wednesday 8th February 2014

  Road tax due.

  Joe dentist 10am.

  Interesting conversation with Julie about ‘road tax’: apparently it was abolished in 1937 and is actually ‘car tax’. Me and many others are under the illusion that this money goes to maintaining roads and it’s clearly not: so where is it going? And why are some not paying? Its proper name is ‘vehicle excise duty’, still referred to as ‘road tax’ as it’s apparently easier to say. Hmm, road tax contains seven letters, car tax only six, so I’m not believing that excuse. So where is this money going? It does, however, explain these residential parking tickets: Joe protests every year at the fact he pays ‘road tax’ but still has to pay on top to park the car out the front of the house. Clearly it’s got nothing to do with the road, it’s worse than that: we’re paying ‘car tax’ for owning a vehicle, then having to pay again to park it. Thieving, lying, bastards.

  Oh mate, I need a life. xx

  Thursday 9th February 2014

  Car insurance due.

  Still pissed off about the ‘car tax’, now gotta part with more money for insurance, no doubt that’s gone up again cos of all the ones who are driving without any, and having accidents.

  Was thinking earlier how attractive my husband is, Mmm.

  Friday 10th February 2014

  Chloe arriving today.

  Chris rang me from the hospital this morning: she had fainted on the Tube this morning and at least someone had the decency to call an ambulance (that’s cos old people only use buses).On assessment at the emergency department the doctor noticed her notes had shown her many recent visits to her GP so they thought it best to run some blood tests; the results have shown that she’d overdosed on vitamins! Having cut down on the fruit intake (didn’t want piles back) she’d compensated, or so she thought, by taking treble doses of vitamins. Seriously, if she had brains she’d be dangerous.

  We’re off to Chloe’s grandparents’ 50th anniversary party at Lloyds Lodge tomorrow. Fifty years looking at the same face every day, hands up to Betty and Alfred: but how? There is already the question as to will I be doing my party trick of choking on a mouthful of trifle, causing a grape to wedge up behind the nasal cavity, thus causing severe pressure from coughing to force grape to come out of my nostril whole, regardless of immense pain. The saga has become somewhat a legend, so that so-called family and friends live in hope of a repeat performance.

  Chloe should be here by four and we’re going round Julie’s for dinner tonight. Shame Elizabeth couldn’t come, we were blown out for the Batemans’ weekend garden gala. Know where I’d rather be.

  Sunday 12th February 2014

  Sunday market.

  On entering the Lodge last night I thought I’d walked into my worst nightmare as the room was filled with silver hair. Reassured slightly as no whiff of wet cabbage in the air, only the aroma of lavender water and carbolic, yet still a combined age of 2,000, dare I say. The truth is we had a blinding night, lol. The old birds danced more than us, very amusing the unanimous two steppers, the repeated lifting of the skirt to flash the knickers, not sure knickers is the right word though, in the 80s we called them ‘clam diggers’ and they were worn over the knickers.

  Betty’s younger sister at eighty-four wouldn’t leave Joe alone all night; he says he was humouring her ‒ clearly not, pal, she was more his pace I think. Aww, poor old git.

  Chloe left for Scotland at seven this morning, heading home to the prairie. It’s done me the world of good seeing her this weekend.

  Monday 13th February 2014

  Joe football.

  Elizabeth called me late last night. Her and Arthur had spent the weekend at Mr Bateman’s estate which ended terribly. Mr Bateman’s late wife has a Persian Blue cat named Humphrey, a very spoilt creature. The Embryo after much begging and pouting convinced Mr Bateman To buy her a Chihuahua. Apparently since the arrival of Bridget, Humphrey has been sulking, refusing to eat and hiding out in the kitchen, not amused that Bridget has taken his place on the master bed and he’s been shut out because Embryo thinks he’ll attack the dog, who is three times smaller than the cat. Riddled with guilt of his late wife’s memory, Mr Bateman felt the animals have had long enough to get used to each other and left the bedroom door open Saturday night. Sunday morning, Embryo awoke to find a medium blood stain, one little paw and a few splinters of bone. As much as I dislike gold diggers I couldn’t help but feel for the girl. Thankfully Arthur was on hand as he seemed to be the only person who could console her. Hmm?

  Picked up Charlie, Rhianne, Baby and Molly from school. Penny, Chris and Abigail went swimming. On dropping off Charlie and Rhianne I stayed for a coffee and Mark came home with flowers. Penny was overjoyed; didn’t impress me much, they were clearly from a garage, and the only reason men buy them from there is forgotten birthdays, anniversaries or a guilty conscience for something they’ve done.

  Valentine’s tomorrow

  Wednesday 15th February 2014

  Rico arrived at Elizabeth’s for her first Pilates consultation last night; first impressions were very good, as was his English. Lizzie is guessing he must be top of his field as his diary was booked full, so thinks him squeezing her in must be that he has seen potential in her. Such an attentive young man, very focused, she believes that whatever he went after he would get.

  She aint getting it, is she? Lol.

  Joe bought me a massive bunch of flowers and we went to dinner for Valentine’s.

  My brain is screaming ‘Yes!’ but my body can’t be asked. What’s going on with my sex drive?

  Thursday 16th February 2014

  Why is it that I pay to have the house phone ex-directory? Oh, that’s right, so I don’t get unwanted calls from random’s. Then pray do tell why I get repeated calls from salesmen? No, I do not want double glazing or solar panels, I don’t use credit cards, clearly haven’t won a prize for a competition I didn’t enter. Mate!

 
Feeling a bit bad right now! Chris has caught the arse end of the mood the telesales men had put me in. She called this afternoon in a panic to tell me she was eating cherries and had accidently swallowed the stone, looking for some small measure of reassurance that she’d be OK. To which I replied, ‘You will be only if it doesn’t take root in your gut.’ Mum called me three hours later and had a right go at me, as no sooner had Chris hung up than she’d had her fingers down her throat repeatedly until she’d thrown it up.

  Roll on Friday: Joe and the boys are all going Flannigan’s for Mark’s 33rd birthday and we’re all at Penny’s.

  Saturday 18th February 2014

  Dad’s birthday.

  Girls’ night was fun last night. About an hour into the conversation Penny tells us Rhianne and Charlie have gone down with chicken pox. Shockingly Chris didn’t bat an eyelid, declaring that our lot have all had it and you can only get it once. Mean as it was, the look on her face when Tina said ‘You could get shingles though’. Julie followed up with, ‘And if the spots meet in the middle it means death.’ I’m laughing now, but any money says Chris will get shingles, they will meet in the middle, and I will have Mum on my case again. I’m cooking dinner for Dad’s 63rd birthday tonight. I guess time will tell.

  Dinner was going really well until for dessert I produced the Black Forest gateau and Chris went off on one, accusing me of taking the piss with the cherries. Lucky for her I’d had too much wine or maybe I wouldn’t have seen the funny side and laughed. It all escalated when Dad chuckled along with me, and Mum exploded at him with some shit about Chris being a vulnerable girl. Hmm, why the sympathy suddenly for her hypochondria? Maybe there was an affair after all, lol. xx