Why I Love Small Towns
byIt’s simple really.
It’s simple really.
“Bruce, Mrs Long just called,” Tracey’s voice came sweetly out of my phone, meaning she wanted something. “Have you seen her dog? It must have got out today and she can’t find it.”
I’ve generally enjoyed the great outdoors at night. Those days are over.
“We both need to go,” Tracey informed me late last week when I questioned Winter’s doggy training on Monday nights. If I’d known it was going to come to that I never would have mentioned it…
Does it count as educational if you teach your kids to use swear words in context and as adjectives, nouns, verbs and adverbs? Because if so, I aced it.
“Seven times!” Tracey exclaimed all hands on hips and frowny today when I arrived home. Clearly I’d stuffed up. A lot.
“Eeeeeee!” Tracey squealed last night as we snuggled up to go to sleep. “We’re having another baby.”
Because clearly our kids haven’t suffered enough these past six months, last week the fates took our beautiful doggy Jazz from us.
Sitting in the kitchen with a cup of tea, I smiled to myself. And for once it wasn’t because the kids were outside and I was inside.
Why does Tracey always come home just when things are going to pot?
It turns out my wife and I have a different idea of what constitutes success. Mine is wrong.
I had the worst morning this week. And it started the night before.
This is a difficult story for me to write…
“Do you really need me to come with you?” I asked Tracey when the alarm started bleating at us at 4.45 this morning. “I can’t even convince my eyelids to separate.”
Clippers and scissors are to my wife what hammers and screwdrivers are to me. Last time she attempted to cut hair Master8 took on the physical characteristics of a Dr Seuss character.