I’m pretty out there. Trent is not. Since we started co-habituating 5 years ago we (or rather he) was very distressed to find me occasionally in the nude, bent over a draw rooting around trying to find a particular shirt I wanted wear out that evening, or leaving the loo door open, or sometimes letting off the occasional pop-tart while relaxed and watching a movie together. I remember the first time he realized I was holding a conversation with him from the loo (with the door open) and his face! He shouted at me! (and he NEVER raises his voice) “Jessica! We do not POO AND TALK AT THE SAME TIME’! Then closed the door very, VERY firmly on me. Rude man. He brought in all these new house rules for goodness sake… like a ‘pop tart amnesty’ (and yes, I had to look up the word amnesty in the Roget’s) I was no longer allowed to walk around airing my bits while waiting for the iron to heat up – a ROBE miraculously appeared on the back of the bathroom door. Doesn’t he know how hot it is in North Queensland? Ehh? He of ALL people should know, the man’s body is covered in a permanent rug for goodness sake.
(I have a feeling he is not going to enjoy this column)
When I was about 8 months pregnant we were driving back visiting his family in Ayr, we were in his Ford falcon and I had the urge, I knew the consequence s of giving into it but I was 8 months pregnant and felt I should get a free pass. My husband did not feel this warranted a ‘pass’. I disagreed and then of course (because it is a bloody Ford) the electric windows did not work and my my, my – that was most inconvenient let me tell you. Trent pulled over the side of the road and briskly waved the door open and closed while making some truly inappropriate and unnecessary comments.
He feels it ruins the ‘chemistry’. I’ll ruin his chemistry soon. Hummmmphhhhh.
In saying that, he may have a point. When I am all dressed up with me hair did, and a new dress – I like to be told I look good. That may not be so easy if he saw me 5 minutes earlier nearly ironing over one of my bosoms accidently.
Last weekend I changed the color of my hair, I was previously blonde. I am now the owner of a great mop of flaming red hair. When Trent picked me up from the hairdresser… WELL. His mouth was in the shape of an O. It stayed that way the whole way home. He kept looking at me and just shaking his head in disbelief. Talk about giving a girl a complex, sheeeshhhh. I says to him ‘do you like it’? ‘What’s wrong’? And then “STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT’! He’s just circling me around the house deciding I think. Last night after a meal out with one of my girlfriends, he told me after much thought he has decided he likes it. Well, how NICE Trent. You can imagine my response. Verbal acid.
Poor Trent. Just think he could have married a lovely non poptarting wife who doesn’t decide to just randomly change the color of her hair (and therefore MUST purchase a new wardrobe to match). I am much better these days, I use doors and I haven’t ironed any of my bosoms lately.