‘Most days,’ he replied, without looking away from the television. ‘Fancy watching a bit of Parks and Recreation?’
‘Nope. Why don’t you ask Pam and her five sisters to join you.’
He stared at me blankly.
‘Your palm!’ I replied, waving my open hand at him. ‘And your five fingers. Pam and her – oh, forget it.’
Even as I flounced out the room, I knew that this was the most childish fucking thing I’d ever said. I’m cringing as I write this.
Sunday January 22nd
Exhausted today. There are dead people with more energy than I have. Oliver took Molly out to the TokyoToys shop while I tidied up and went food shopping. I warned them both not to come back with anything weird. I’ve seen those body pillows used by grown men for dry-humping anime characters. It’s fucking disturbing. Luckily all Molly got were some Pokémon cards.
It’s now 8.50 p.m., I have a glass of awful red wine, Molly is asleep and Oliver is snoozing on the couch. I don’t have the heart to wake him up – or the energy. Ugh, maybe it’s not just him who’s not making the effort here. I should totally wake him up! I should wake him up with my mouth.
*
9.35 p.m.I’m in bed. He scowled at me for waking him up.
Whatever. I give up. ENJOY THE FUCKING COUCH, DICKHEAD.
Monday January 23rd
Oliver had indoor football this evening, so I picked Molly up from Maggie’s after work before popping to the supermarket to buy dinner. I told Molly that we didn’t have money for toys but of course bought her something anyway because I have no discipline whatsoever. I ate a giant bag of Maltesers on my way round the store and they were totally worth the judgemental look the checkout woman gave me while she scanned the empty wrapper. I did see a blonde woman with a wonky trolley trying to catch the attention of a guy in the cheese aisle, though. Thank fuck I’m not single anymore. Looking for love is grim. Even if I’m not shagging Oliver, he’s still the love of my life.
Wednesday January 25th
Highlights today were:
1.Twenty-seven minute power nap.
2.Unashamedly hoover-dancing to Bruno Mars.
3.The pasta I cooked for dinner was the food equivalent of being wrestled to the floor by Tom Hardy; it was messy and I wanted it in me.
Unfortunately the low points included:
1.Molly being pushed over by a little shitbag at nursery.
2.Pulling a muscle in my back because of the hoover-dancing.
3.Being in told in no uncertain terms that Oliver will not consider couples therapy with Pam Potter.
*
‘I’m not discussing our sex life with your weirdo therapist!’ he fumed in bed beside me. ‘So we haven’t had sex in a while; it’s not the fucking end of the world. We could do it right now. Problem solved.’
‘She’s not a weirdo!’ I insisted. ‘She’s a smart, insightful woman who—’
‘You told me she once conducted an entire session wearing earmuffs shaped like a monkey.’
I paused and smiled. The heating in her office had packed up that day. It was actually a really productive session, even with the earmuffs.
‘Well . . . I don’t remember telling you that. So she’s a little offbeat – who cares? She’s still wonderful. I told you she looks like Tina Fey, right? You like Tina Fey.’
‘Not in earmuffs.’
‘Forget the fucking earmuffs. This is about sex and the problem isn’t just the lack of it – it’s the reason why we’re not doing it!’ I protested. ‘I could count on one hand the number of times we shagged last year!’
