There's a time in every relationship when you know its over. And so it is. She came into my life all sparkly-eyed and enthusiastic. But those little things that are funny at the start of the relationship begin to aggravate and irritate. And at some point you realise that she won't change. So that's it, you know you have to finish it.
The sort of things I mean are moving those ornaments that you've spent weeks organising so they're just perfect...and instead of being artistically arranged, they're lined up like a row of soldiers. My deodorant and aftershave gets shoved in the back of the bathroom cupboard meaning I can't find them when I need them. One day I'll leave for work all smelly. Photoframes carefully placed on the side unit are al mixed up and muddled. Candlesticks, glasses, little 'things' just get moved from place to place. Strange little groupings of china and bronze ornaments suddenly appear. Clothes that are carefully put in one place, mysteriously end up somewhere else.
She can't leave alone.
She has to change things.
The final straw was being woken in the morning by the incessant buzzing of the alarm clock. I always have it set to radio. A buzz is not a great way to start the day and it made me grumpy until I went to bed.
The Boy gets driven to distraction...even The Cat thinks she's a pain. The Cat's Mum doesn't get it.
I'm talking about 'The Woman That Does'. The problem is she does too much. She comes from the east. I don't mean Tilbury or Southend. I mean further, but not as far as Moscow. I suspect she's been sent to grind us down and it'll all end up like Dirk Bogarde in The Servant.
The Cat's Mum says that if I ever meet her (yes I have to confess I never have) I'd see she's delightful and well meaning. I know I didn't employ her. I know that I don't pay her. I know she's not my responsibility. BUT. I live in fear of coming home on a Monday evening and finding that I have to spend a couple of hours re-arranging things back to how they were in the morning. How they should be.
Of course I am grateful...it's been a very long time since I paid anyone to clear up after me. The last time was when I lived down in Brighton and commuted to London. I employed an East European woman, who it transpired was a fully qualified doctor in her own country. I felt terrible at this waste of talent, so was immensely grateful when she moved on. Of course, I missed having a clean and tidy flat..but that's bachelor life.
Your sympathy for my terrible predicament would be much appreciated.
Please don't think I'm a spoilt brat...but really, one more out of place ornament, and I may have to bury her in the basement.
