The Real Truth About Single Parenthood
The real truth about single parenthood is that when it’s ten at night and your allergies are so bad you could potentially be mined for mucus (if mucus were a desirable commodity) and you have a residual childhood fear of the dark as well as a not too residual fear of mice so going downstairs is a major exercise in self-control and strategic light turning on and you’re so desperate for a cup of tea that you’d offer redudant organs for a hot cuppa and there’s no one there to make the cup of tea for you – the real truth is that you don’t get any tea.
That’s it really. No tea. Oh, and doing absolutely all the dishes, laundry, sweeping, arguing, mopping, driving, cooking, cajoling, comforting, reading, ferrying, wiping, negotiating, tidying, waking, tucking in, bathing, modulating, moderating, bill paying, telephoning, watering, brushing, fielding, finding, tiling, playing, crying, vacuuming, recovering, sorting, folding, smiling, reasoning, yelling, apologizing, disciplining, pool filling, decision making, trash removing, list compiling and grocery shopping. But at least I don’t have to share my Tofutti Fudge Treats, which, while only 7 out of 10 on the taste scale and pretty small besides, are only 30 calories and no fat whatsoever. Party on down, hot momma.
can I recommend a mouse proof box to remain in your bedroom? in it you could put said fudge thingummies, pieces of fruit (for those more virtuous snack moments), a mouse scaring stick, and a torch. you would then never need to go downstairs in the dark, and the mice wouldn’t be able to raid your box and steal stick/torch or anything else.
on second thoughts I reckon a Teasmade could be a good present.
but really, we need a star gate so that you can pop your head through, demand tea from london, and I’ll just pass it through the void. you don’t think it’d get chilly en route, do you?
xxx
The awful thing about being single is that when you want a piece of chocolate, and there’s none in the house — and let’s face it, there will never be any in the house, because if there were, you would have already eaten it — there is no one to send out to buy some for you. I found myself in this horrible situation last night, and debated going out for some for at least an hour and a half, before deciding that I’d rather not have to put on pants and walk the 100 or so yards to the corner store. I ate some applesauce instead.
Maybe this is a good thing in disguise. Could laziness be the next diet craze?