Mike: (wondering whether to do the dishes, watch telly, listen to the rest of the Seth Lakeman album, read Guyana Gal‘s archives, or carry on with Part 4 of the wedding series) What shall I do? What shall I do?
K: Shit in your hands, and clap them to.
Mike: […..]
K: [gummy grin]
Mike: Where did that come from?
K: Dunno. Just made it up. Worrying, isn’t it?
OK, carry on with Part 4 it is, then. Anything to get away from Little Miss Potty Mouth downstairs, perched on the sofa, pleased as f**king Punch. He’s probably still saying it to himself right now. Probably hugging himself as he does so.
Look, I do the f**king jokes in this relationship. It’s one of the pitifully few life skills I have to offer.
Yes, this is displacement activity.
Yes, more wedding stories. I am well aware of your need.
Anna’s particularly funny today. Go and read her. Slowly. Several times.
Um.
Ooh! If I don’t do the dishes right now, they might congeal!
In, um, the dishwasher.
Damn.
Goodness, is it only an hour and a half till Lost? Well, scarcely worth making a start, then.
Oh, very well. Wedding stories. Sigh. Must they rip the words out of my very soul?
troubled diva 