That’s not even a metaphor. Literal (or do I mean physical?) egg, dripping onto the keyboard. Also, cooking oil in my hair, (it was meant to be olive oil but we ran out – and what with the egg in my eyes it was very nearly soy sauce).
Tomorrow you see, is Glen’s birthday. So today is Pimp-a-wife. However, instead of unveiling a beautiful swan, I seem to have liberated my inner pigeon. And not one of those plump Gastropub pigeons either – one of the mangy Trafalgar Square ones with missing toes and chip breath.
Yes I know that beauty on the inside is what counts. But what with the nagging and everything, that’s tricky too. Option B is to jump out of a birthday cake, but if I had to stay still for a long period either my knees would give up or I’d need the loo – plus, how would I breathe amidst all that sponge? Last time I tried my hand at baking it was impossible to tell where the ‘cake’ ended and the tin began, so I’m not going there either. Plus, I’m not great at public, (or private) displays of affection. I said I loved him on our wedding day and I haven’t taken it back – now that’s romance..
Egg-pack or not, I suspect I’m falling slightly short on the whole wife thing. So I’ve been intrigued to hear about a book by Gaby Hinsliff called ‘Half A Life: The Working Family’s Guide to Getting A Life Back’. (No sure about the ‘Back’ bit, but let’s run with it for the moment).
Hinsliff argues that the solution to Wifely Fails is to opt for what she calls being a ‘Half Wife’: an cut-price version of the full wife package. To do this, the working wife needs to set aside two days a week of ‘wife time’, which are then filled by what she calls traditional wifely tasks. Problem is, she doesn’t stipulate what bits you need to prioritise. Domestic goddess – or love slave? Mow the legs or mow the lawn? Do the shopping or fix your hair? Two days isn’t really very long – but on the up side, you presumably get five days of ‘non-wife’ time, when you can – I dunno, stalk Michael Fassbender and eat beans from the tin. You have to admit, it holds a certain appeal.
Plus, the idea could easily be extended to other areas. The ‘Quarter Christian’, for example. Turn up for church, throw in a couple of quiet times or a prayer meeting, et voila: job done! Oodles of lovely me-time without all that complicated God-stuff. Or the ‘Occasional Friend’: available for parties, but not babysitting.
In any case, this egg-mask clearly counts as overtime. Forget Glen’s birthday: by the time I’ve wiped it off, He’ll owe me a cake.