"How are you feeling?" [Like I need to ask. Your ostentatious coughing can be heard for miles]
"Oh, you know. I'm coping" [No thanks to you. Would it kill you to offer me a Lemsip? I am SICK"]
"No, don't worry, you just go back to sleep, I'LL put the children to bed" [poorly supressed sigh]
"No I'll be fine don't worry about me, I am slightly dizzy but I'm sure it will pass" [hacking cough hacking cough]
"I'm just going to light the fire, NO DON'T GET UP you're obviously too poorly" [eye roll]
"No, I'll do it, just give me a minute to stop SHAKING" [theatrical shudder, judder, teeth chatter]
We sat in Café Belga this morning waiting for the spawn music class to finish (Yes, I am a pushy middle class parent.Well, I'm not really, but an hour without both of them on a Saturday? Are you kidding? Yes please. Lashes mainly sharpens pencils, as far as I can tell. Fingers, as a signatory of the Official Secrets Act, maintains a judicious silence on all activities). Eyeing each other sourly, while he sat hunched in twenty layers of fleece, fastidiously sipping juice like a ninety year old and I jabbed at my cappucino stabbily.
"It's weird how I'm totally not hungry" [See? See how sick I am, you heartless bitch? I can't even eat and you COULDN'T GIVE A SHIT]
"Mmph" [Shut UP. I need to know that like I need a hole in the head as I sit here stuffing my face with cramique.]
"What? Why are you looking at me like that? What's wrong? Is it MY FAULT? It's not my fault I'm SICK" [Even you, you irrational, rage-filled medusa, you cannot pretend it is my fault I have the flu]
"Of course it isn't, don't be stupid" [Yes. It is.]
"I'm doing my best" [you unsympathetic witch]
"I know" [THIS is your BEST? Jesus]
Goodness, we are vile. Especially me. But having sadistically trailed him round Comptoir des Cotonniers, Rue Blanche and Isabel Marant, then all the way down rue des Chartreux this afternoon (GREAT street, featuring the dog companion to the Mannekin Pis), I feel better. He feels better because I didn't buy anything. Of such concessions are good relationships made. Ha! No, I can't write that with a straight face. Basically, we are too defeated by this foul month to sustain a grievance. We would rather just collapse with shitty tv and shitty food from the freezer and sit in companionable balefulness. I'm not sure I'd recommend it, but it works - just - for us. The secret to a successful long term relationship - maintain exhaustion levels high enough to preclude vigorous fighting. Oliver James? Your thoughts?
In other news, I tried to take a photo of a cat climbing over the back wall with a beard like Captain Birds Eye. Or Santa. It's not terribly successful, so you might have to take my word for it.Cap'n Birds Eye:
Enlarge it! I swear the cat has a beard.
Um, that's all. Totally worth posting on Saturday, right?