I am in total agreement with the famous Mr King, but how can I – a woman – do just that. To those who have not noticed, I have not posted anything on my blog for over a week. Why? it’s been half-term here in England, and even though my children are all now in their forties, I have been baby-sitting, children-sitting and dog-sitting, along with my own tasks of washing, ironing, cleaning, shopping, cooking, and generally pointing Hubby in the right direction, which is usually out from under my feet, as I sometimes have to whiz around like a whirling dervish.
Yesterday, I thought my family had all either, gone back to work, or to school, but no such luck – I had a visitation from one of my sons who informed me their tumble dryer had gone kaput, and would I dry their clothing, which was two very large baskets full of wet gear. Well, when I saw the pile I hit the roof. I actually went bananas and gave my son an enormous flea in his ear, along with a barrage of irate prattle.
Give him his due, my son sat in an armchair in the living room while I stood ejaculating my venom in his direction. Now, my son is a Gulf War veteran, and has seen a lot of active service, and as I looked at him I suddenly wondered why he was taking what I was dishing out with a look on his face as if he was being bawled at by a Sergeant Major: everything going over his head: even my deluge of expletive explosion was being totally ignored.
When I had got everything off my chest, I asked him if he wanted a cup of coffee. He simply said, ‘Go on then, and have you anything to eat, I haven’t had any breakfast.’ Why is it my grandchildren know when not to mess with Granny, but my son doesn’t yet know not to mess with his mother, especially on a Monday morning when she has her own washing to do.
So folks, how the hell do I – a woman – get the chance to read, let alone write? At times I just want to sail away to catch the Orinoco flow, just to see where I end up. I’ll tell you one thing, though, I will be coming back as a man next time: that’s for sure.