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Friday, April 4, 2014

D- is for Deserted Wife

Scotto has nicked off and left me.

Only for a week… but I’m very sad for many reasons.

Who’ll create the silly Photoshopped graphics for my blog now? My posts will have absolutely no appeal without those.

Who will preview my posts and censor the offensive material and bad grammar so rampant in my first drafts? Blogger will disown me.

Who will go down and smack the German Shepherd with a newspaper at two o’clock in the morning after his pointless and relentless barking has woken the entire neighbourhood? I'll be too scared.

Who will shake me awake at three in the morning because I ceased my loud snoring and then stopped breathing for at least a minute and he was worried I was dead. I might actually die.

Who will explain the bits in “Game of Thrones” when I’m watching it on the telly. 

“Who’s he?” I’ll ask to thin air.

“But I thought he was Jon Snow! Isn’t Jon Snow the bastard brother? Then who's he? Why do they all look so much alike?” 

But that last one doesn’t matter because I won’t be watching any telly this week.

Even though Scotto left me explicit instructions, both verbal and diagrammatic, on using the remote controls for both the upstairs and downstair’s TVs, I didn’t listen to a word he said because I was thinking about juggling monkeys... and now I won’t be able to figure out how to turn either televisions on. 

I’m very sad Scotto has deserted me.

(Insert photoshopped picture of Pinky in monkey costume juggling balls)