SISS

I can’t explain to you the week I had last week. Probably the worst week I’ve had in my life. Apart from the week when I was 12 and my Dad added his own fish to my tropical fish tank and it ate all the other fish. Which is why I couldn’t put fingers to keyboard as they were too busy putting tissues to eyes. But enough about that, if this week doesn’t go well, I’m moving to Pennsylvania and joining an Armish community.

On another note, I’m starting to worry that the romance is waning in my relationship with The Wine Merchant. What was once a respectful and polite relationship has become this:

Wine Merchant: Babes, where’s the newspaper?
Me: On the table.
WM: Awesome.

Tucks paper under arm and heads towards the bathroom.

Me: Where are you going?
WM: Bathroom. Baglett, it’s going to be a goooooodie!

This ritual usually takes anything from ten minutes to eight days. He then walks out with a really chuffed look on his face and says:

Wine Merchant: Babes, you won’t believe it!
Me: Please, for all that is good and holy, I don’t want to know.
WM: I’ve been trying to go for days! I feel thinner. Do I look thinner?!
Me: You’re disgusting.
WM: Do you remember when I was trying to go yesterday?
Me: Oh my God. You’re still talking.
WM: Here’s the paper.
Me: I wouldn’t touch that if you if you gave me a million dollars.
WM: Do you know what feels like a million dollars?
Me: What?
WM: Me after…
Me: Stop talking, please, I beg of you, don't finish that sentence.

After discussing this with the girls last night, I realised I’m not alone. But the Wine Merchant might be if he keeps giving me a running commentary of what he does in my bathroom.