I was cyber-harassing advertising execs from the comfort of my own room the other day when my husband came in, holding one of my jackets.
“Someone must have broken in, taken one of your jackets out of your wardrobe and left it one the back of one of the kitchen chairs,” he said.
“Oh, those people!” I sighed and kept on typing.
Five minutes later, he came in with another jacket.
“I really should change the locks on the back door,” he remarked, as he hung it up in the wardrobe. “Those people are out of control.”
A few minutes after that, he came in holding a grand total of four paper mushroom bags of varying ages and fullness.
“They’ve played that mushroom bag trick again!” he said, waggling the bags at me.
I shook my head and tutted. These were obviously the same people who, according to my husband, poured bucketfuls of water on the bathroom mat and then left it sopping wet on the floor and who left things soaking in a bucket in the laundry long enough to make their own killer swamp water and who always turned the heat up too high when cooking onions.
They were also the same people I suspected of switching the meat at the supermarket when my husband was shopping so that he ended up paying full price for sausages that were due to expire the very next day. And the same ones who never ever put the rice canister or the rice cooker away after using them. And who managed to lose one of Mr Justice’s school shoes somewhere between home and my mother’s house, by letting it roll unnoticed out of the car door at the petrol station.
And when I went on strike and refused to put the used toilet rolls in the recycling, the subsequent mass accumulation of used toilet roll wealth (pictured above) was entirely the fault of The Others because they suggested to my husband that I was collecting them for ‘crafting’.
Honestly! Why don’t these people just leave us alone?
I was thinking about all this when I heard my husband calling me, saying breakfast was ready. But strangely, when I got to the table, no food had been served and, in fact, most of it was still cooking on the stove.
“Sorry, I thought it must have been you calling me to breakfast but it must have been The Others playing tricks again because breakfast is clearly nowhere near ready,” I remarked.
“Actually, it was me who called you early because you always come late,” my husband replied.
“And I always come late because the food is never ready when you call me,” I was quick to retort.
We glared at each other for the briefest of moments before relaxing back into a smile. We knew this was The Others wanted us to do: they wanted us to fight. We weren’t going to fall for another of their tricks. Oh, no. Not us!
Honestly, marriage is much easier when there are other people involved.