Life's a bastard...but sometimes it lets up

The life and times of an ordinary Dublin girl. Follow her journey as she finds out working from home really ISN'T about watching Oprah all day and that perhaps men aren't really all bastards.

Thursday, May 25, 2006

Free gaff!

THE folks were away there last weekend for a few days visiting an aunt across the water, so I had the gaff to myself. I even took a couple of days off work to enjoy it!


Before any of you start getting smutty, there were no bedroom shenanigans (not for want of trying, but none of the youngfellas on Saturday wanted to come home with me, kids these days) it was just four days of pure me time.

No endless watching of Heartbeat.

No questions like "are you sure you don't want a breaded turkey breast from the freezer" on a loop over and over again.

No 'interesting' conversations about what 'yer woman' in number 48 put in her bin at lunchtime.

No hoovers at ungodly hours - in fact, no hoovers AT ALL.

No hours and hours of dusting the skirting boards while I'm trying to read, like anyone EVER looks at them. (I mean EVER. Even if the Pope did deign to grant us a visit, I doubt the first thing he'd do is get on his knees and inspect the bloody skirting boards).

Nothing, in fact, except me, the television and the contents of our medium sized fridge. After almost a year at home with the folks (and six months of that being nursed back to full-ish health by Mammy Dunne after I was ill) I really needed the time to just be quiet and alone. And boy was I!

Got up, late.
Faffed about
Faffed about some more
Left dirty dishes in the sink
Had a shower, put on make up, got dressed
Went out
Got drunk
Came home late
Went to bed.

(All of the above, bar the getting drunk bit, was carried out in blissful silence)

Same as Saturday, except instead of going out and getting drunk, I went for dinner in a pub with my sister. Everything was again in silence, my sister is very understanding.

Same as previous days, except only went out to go to the chemist to fill my prescription. Again, there was minimal talking, my pharmacist is also very understanding.

Tuesday: (The day of the return)
Same as previous days, except realised that was eating my cereal out of a gravy boat and using a wooden spoon cos all of the other utensils were dirty, so did some washing up.

Tuesday night, when they arrived back:
Covered my ears as the house was once again filled with conversation. Tried to watch Desperate Housewives while glowering at them as they noisily unpacked.

(I know I sound like an ungrateful wench, and maybe I am, but I really enjoyed the alone time and could have done with a few more days. I'm not a truly horrible person though, cos I did prepare a welcome home supper for them with their favourite rolls, filling and cake, so I think that earned me some karma points.)

They're back now though so I'll just have to get on with it...though I did read in a magazine once about a company that builds sheds in your back garden that are 'just like your real sitting room'......hmmm I wonder how the Dunnes would feel about that?


At 4:08 p.m., Blogger The Swearing Lady said...

Feckin' brilliant. That gave me a laugh.

Ah, you're not being ungrateful or picky. If I moved in with my mother again one or both of us would be dead within the hour. So you're quite the angel, really.

Although I'd much prefer a dose of MTV in the morning.

At 4:57 p.m., Blogger Pure Cork Boy said...

Have you considered therapy?

At 8:22 p.m., Blogger fatmammycat said...

I understand completely and you have my deepest and most sincere sympathy.

At 1:54 a.m., Blogger monty said...

My Mother (note the capital), is like Mrs. Doyle, except with home baked sweet stuff from Mars bar crispies, shortbread, cakes and apple tarts instead of tea. I left home very early. It was a necessity so I fell for you. All the same, always a dinner on the table and a selection of eats in the fridge.....

I've seen those huts. Like a cross between a sauna and an outdoor dining room. I think you're looking for a love shack fitted with a mini-bar and tv. And a lock.

At 9:35 p.m., Blogger Paige A Harrison said...

Nice one Kaz. I moved out several years ago and now can't even do a long weekend at home without risking my fragile sanity.

Pure Cork Boy, is this not the best kind of therapy? (BTW, I may be biased but I reckon your name is something of an oxymoron!)

Monty, show me a woman who doesn't want a love shack and a minibar and I'll show you a woman with a bar of chocolate.


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