Annabelle has gone camping with Ex-Husband-Andy.
I wasn’t actually aware that Annabelle was going camping with Ex-Husband-Andy as the arrangements had been made, without my knowledge, using the wonder that is Skype. As a result I was completely unprepared for his arrival.
To complicate matters further, I was wearing a baggy, old’ 69′ t-shirt of Ex-Husband-Andy’s that I kidnapped when we got divorced, I was thusly unable to go to the door and had to send the Teenager to manage the hand-over in my place.
In order to avoid being I-spied, I leapt off the sofa and wedged myself between the book-case and the back of the sofa where I crouched, with my eyes squeezed closed and my fingers crossed, praying that the Teenager would catch on super quick and pretend that I wasn’t home.
Newsflash. Teenagers do not catch on ‘super quick’.
An odd situation ensued where Ex-Husband-Andy would ask the Teenager a question which, having not moved an inch from the door, the Teenager would then bellow over his shoulder in the direction of my hidey-hole.
Instead of just going to the front-door like a real woman would have done, I opted for the ‘I’d-well-love-to-come-and-greet-you-personally-but-I’m-in-the- bath’ ploy and attempted to reply in a voice that sounded like I was actually upstairs.
Good thinking Batman.
Sounding like you are upstairs relaxing in soapy bubbles with sandalwood candles (and that), when you actually wedged underneath the sofa staring some sort of tarantula nest in the face is not as easy as you might think.
Finally, Ex-Husband-Andy departed taking with him a shrieking
Annabelle and any ideas he may have had that maybe he’d been wrong, and I wasn’t completely insane, shattered into a million pieces.
When I looked up, the Teenager and the dog were peering down at me, one with a look of fascinated wonder at my ingenious hiding place, the
other, with a look of condescending impatience.
So now, I’m footloose and fancy-free until Sunday morning. Bearing in mind however, that I am the proud owner of a 67p bank balance, I don’t think I’m going to be painting anything a kick-arse ‘rock ‘n’ roll’ shade of red this weekend.
Any road up. I’d better go now, there’s apparently a tarantula’s nest in the Teenager’s new ‘camp’.