“Dad!” shouted a shocked Master10 as he ran into the sleep-out where I was busy…well…sleeping. I was soon to be as shocked as he was. “Dad! Mum says I have to wait until she eats shit!”
“What are you talking about?” I asked him.
“I asked Mum if she could get me a snack to eat and she told me…it’s disgusting.” His face was screwed up like Zana being served a plate of unwashed lettuce (MKR reference). It crossed my mind we needed to sort this out or this story would be coming up at therapy sessions in his late twenties.
“I’m sure it’s not what you think,” I assured him, getting up to go find Tracey. “You’ve misheard her.”
If it was me I’d assume the sentence was more along the lines of ‘eat shit and die’, but Tracey never says that. And even I’d consider it too aggressive for a biccie request.
Not that I’m saying my darling wife is any sort of saint. She can let fly with the adjectives and expletives when the mood takes her. It’s all part of her charm and why I asked her to marry me.
I found Tracey in our bedroom, attending to her bags. Suddenly it was making more sense.
She often mutters about the stuff coming out of her when she’s changing bags and shoving earbud-like-things into her tubes to unblock things. Although usually it’s said with a sense of awe rather than crankiness. But sometimes the whole process bugs her because she feels she should be doing something else. I figured this was probably one of those times and she’d muttered something about poo.
“Did you say something to our son about your bags?” I asked her, feeling sure I’d gotten to the bottom of this misunderstanding.
But it wasn’t that.
“No,” she said, not even looking up.
“Oh,” I said, pausing. There really was no subtle way to phrase it so I dived on in. “You see he thinks you said you were going to get him something to eat after you ate some shit,” I finished, adding a nervous giggle to show I obviously didn’t think this at all sounded like the sort of thing she’d say.
“Well, I didn’t,” Tracey confirmed snappily as she wrestled to get her bag correctly fitted.
“That’s what I told him,” I quickly assured her. No way was I going to get in trouble for this. I hadn’t asked her if I could buy myself a six-pack for tonight yet.
“I said he has to wait until I give a shit.”
Now that, I thought as I crept away to wait with Master10 until her mood improved, sounds more like the woman I fell in love with.
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“Raising a family on little more than laughs.”