Well yesterday I was used as an ‘easy target’ for a snowball fight, by my actual ‘thought he was doting’ HUSBAND. Now, we’re all well aware that he is of a juvenile manner and even though we ladies find that somewhat annoying at times, i’m usually quite alright with his manner..when I’M not the subject of his, what ill call BRUTAL 🙂 abuse.
Imagine that, there I was kindly offering to buy us lunch at our local, The Angel. A place i’m beginning to love the more I go and simply because it’s one of those walking distance places, that isn’t as snazzy at The Ritz, but isn’t as shit as…well i don’t dine at shit places, so i don’t really know any for the butt of my joke. 😉 The food is good, Joe the bartender is lovely and well it’s one of those village pubs, where everyone knows everyone and they’ll sip down a wine, or plonk down money for a pint, with the familiar faces they run into.
The ground was laiden with thick snow and we were walking in the midst of an actual beautiful fall of white flakes. You’d think it a romantic moment, a moment for any hero to take advantage of. But no…MY husband, becomes filled with excitement (the jolly kind, and not one where he gets up with a sticky snail trail in his joggers) and says this:
‘Okay Babe, you walk ahead, so i can practice throwing snowball, because you’re an EASY TARGET.’
Surely he meant, that i was a glorious vision of absolute beauty, who he wouldn’t dream of repeatedly demeaning with a powdered icy ball of snow. He even PUSHED ME FORWARD, in order to get a good distance. 🙂
Now, i do want to remind you all that i’m now 5 months pregnant, with a beach ball of a bump, and not the mightiest of throwers if i needed to fight back, or even defend my pretty self against his ARMY THROWING ARM. ffs.
So, there I was all reluctant and screaming for my life, as i tried to run forward and AWAY, as fast as I could. I waddled for my LIFE. Yes, all 5 ft 2 of me, in knee high fur boots, a big, warm brown, with beige fur rimmed, hooded pussycat jacket and freshly curled hair, that was now sprinkled with snow fall.
My intention wasn’t to run far enough to make the perfect target distance. Yet to run away for my life, so that he would forget to play and think he was losing me.
The faster i waddled, the more excited he became and before you know it, i had a ferocious fire of white, puffy snowballs hurtling their way towards me, hitting my back, my side, the stony wall next to me, my leg, my dignity. EVEN MY FLIPPING BELLY!
‘That’s it Keiran, you knob! if our baby haS brain damage now, i’l tell him that it was because you’re stupid father wanted to throw fucking snowballs at you, when you were simply a BUMP!!!’
He didn’t stop.it just got more deadly.
After lunch, (which was beautiful by the way) I had to go through it all over again, however this time to the point where i literally only saved my pretty preggo self, by rushing as fast as i could, through my garden, slamming my garden gate CLOSED, waddling to the back patio door as fast as my legs could carry me, fumbling for my keys, leaping into the house and then finally shutting the glass patio door behind me. *SLAM* One hit the door and just missed by head. My FUCKING HEAD!
I should’ve locked him out. But he calmed down and came in laughing, after I scorned him playfully for bullying me.
The rest of the day was spent working. I’m writing a novel, a naughty one of the glitzy variety. I’ve loved doing it and dedicated lot of my time to it, out of my love for it. SO, it was rather upsetting for me to be working on the book, after Baby Ruby, who had gone to bed. She had been picked up from nursery early due to all the snow and was simply knackered from singing ‘I’m a little teapot’ on repeat and painting…her clothes. (She is SO cute when she sings I’m a little teapot.’)
Okay, yeah, i’ve been writing the novel and letting Keiran read bits of it as i go along. It’s a good one and simply because i adore it and although it is fiction, it is based upon real people, who have inspired me enough to be characters..and their lives. I mean Jackie Collins (who i met when i did ‘Paris Hilton’s British Best Friend’) always said, ‘Write about what you know.’ You didn’t get to see that challenge on the telly and i really don’t know why?
Anyway, the story so far was great and had been adored my both my hubby and I. However, then i let him read a section (i’m only on Chapter 2) that was inspired by what he had told me about his childhood.
He read it, got all angry and banned me from going any further with it…
I of course stubbornly told him that I would be doing what i wanted and that he couldn’t control my work. I mean, I ask him about what he knows and take from it, without telling him how to do his job, his side of things. He likes to share and help me, but then tries to tell me how to write a good book…by editing what I should be putting in it. I didn’t like it. I don’t like people telling me what to do, when i know what i’m doing and I don’t like people preventing me from doing something I love. Especially, when it’s of a positive nature. (I mean, it’s not as if i was wanting to go out partying. I was writing an inspiring novel for crying out loud.)
I got huffy and went to bed, without him.
He thought about it and tried to talk to me about it last night. So i ignored him. (Nice and mature. 🙂 )
This morning, i was grumpy because I was so upset that i was no longer able to do something that I loved and well it felt like a piece of me was missing because I had gotten so into it all. I missed my Mum (who’s still in Burma) madly and because she’s always been an encouraging force of ‘Wunna’ when i’ve wanted to do things of a positive nature and for my career.
Anyway, i had a bit of a Princess weep, partly because i’m bratty and partly because i missed writing it. It meant so much to me…and i was sort of on a deadline, that i pretty much pulled out of.
Keiran tried to talk to me about it a few times this morning, but i ignored him and sent him on his way, out of stubbornness
‘I’m doing my face, leave me alone…’
So, there I was laid on our bed, secretly having a baby cry, missing my mum, throwing a pity party and being a brat and in strides my handsome hero, with a cuddle to say,
‘Look honey, i’ve been thinking and I know writing that story makes you so happy. I could see how happy it made you and well you’re my wife and I want you to be happy, so i think you should get back to work on it. I’m completely fine with you doing it. I never want to make you sad.’
I played stubborn and said I wouldn’t through tears and simply because i felt that he didn’t get to say ‘no you can’t so something,’ followed by ‘now you can’ in a manner of control. My ex-husband used to do that.
I wanted to do it, because i decided i wanted to and because he was now allowing me to follow my instinct. Men are bizarre like that, aren’t they. So when he utter the words…’the balls in your court.’ It was…and i flipped open my little pink notepad and (well this should say ‘got to work.’ But i didn’t i wrote a blog instead.)
So, now we’re all happy and back to ‘fairytale’ once more. I like that he wants to make me happy and I like that he didn’t let the hauntings of his own past, prevent the success of either HIMSELF or someone else’s future.
I’ve got a few work phone calls to make and a bit of breaky to eat and then i’m back on track.
Life is good. Hope your day rocks.