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Bloke's Blog
By Kathleen McGurl
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Monday
She's cut her hair. There. She says I never notice anything. I noticed her hair,
I did, as soon as she walked in.
'You've cut your hair, love,' I said.
She smiled, and twirled. 'D'you like it?'
'Yes,' said I. 'It's very, well, very modern.' How are you supposed to describe
women's haircuts? I haven't a clue.
'Modern!' she laughed. But I must have said almost the right thing, because she
waltzed off to the kitchen and came back with two glasses of Sauvignon. We
clinked glasses to her new hairstyle (that was her idea), then I balanced my
glass on top of the printer (must get a bigger desk) and got on with writing
this.
So, all you lovely readers out there, do you notice when your woman cuts her
hair, or buys a new dress, or puts on heels? I do, see. I just proved it. Put
her in a good mood and all. Bought myself a quiet hour to catch up on the net,
and update the old blog, on a promise of some 'special' time together later.
Wahey!
Yesterday, you see, we had this row. She told me I preferred my online mates to
her, told me I was a boring techno-nerd, told me I was losing all sense of
perspective, damaging our relationship through not paying her enough attention.
I was in a chat-room at the time, discussing the situation in Iraq. OK, alright,
regular readers of this blog will know that's unlikely, we were just 'aving a
larf, but, whatever, she interrupted and I left the chat. Just like that.
Listened to her, for ten whole minutes I listened to her. Kissed her and
reassured her she was the most important. She is, too. You all know that. I'm
always rabbiting on about her, love of my life, joy of my soul, light in my
darkness. The row hurt, see. I don't like hearing I'm losing perspective. Pride
myself on my balanced viewpoint, everything in moderation, try it all but get
hooked on nothing, that's been my motto.
So it's cool that today she's cut her hair and I've noticed and we've clinked
glasses and now I'll be off to give her one, cos we're both in that sort of a
mood now.
Tuesday
Just read what I wrote yesterday. Ha! Thought I was on to something there,
didn't I? Sadly, no, it didn't happen. Got tied up in the chat room again, went
upstairs an hour or two later, OK it was around two am, and she was asleep with
a crumpled tissue clutched in her hand.
Whoops. May have messed up, there.
Wednesday
She's been shopping. She's bought a pile of new clothes. I can tell, the
under-sink cupboard is overflowing with carrier bags. There were even a couple
of those posh ones - the thick paper ones with string handles. Those bags, lads,
mean expensive designer shops, a smoking credit card and a red bank statement.
Beware!
She didn't show me the new stuff. There was a time when she'd put it on, and
parade around the living room in it, asking did I like it. Great when it was
lingerie she'd been buying! Cor, the times we had, the living room carpet saw
some action I can tell you. At least I don't think she tried the stuff on for
me. Must admit I was watching Star Wars at the time, so I might not have
noticed. The original three films, just released on DVD. (I've reviewed them,
for your delight and delectation dear readers, click on the link above.)
I guess she'll be snoring by the time I get to bed again. Well I can't help it -
had to watch all three films back-to-back, that was the point of the DVD set.
And I had to write the review straight away, didn't I, then catch up on my blog?
Thursday
What I don't get about women, see, is that they don't seem to care if they don't
get any. Personally speaking, if I don't get my rocks off for five days I ache.
It's like, a dull physical ache in my gonads. You guys out there, you know what
I mean, right? Actually I get it after three days abstinence. Her 'time of the
month' is torture for me.
But she, she doesn't seem to mind at all. It's been six days now, and it's not
because she's got her period. I counted the tampons in the little basket in the
bathroom yesterday and they're still all there today.
Anyway she was out all night. She got home half an hour ago and went straight
upstairs. Suited me, I was on eBay all evening.
Friday
I might as well not have a woman. She's not said a word to me all week, not
since that glass of Sauvignon on Monday. Tried it on with her in bed last night
but no cigar. She turned her back on me and farted.
Saturday
She was off out with her mates today. She got back late and pissed. I watched
the footie and three DVDs, drank fourteen cans of Stella and slept on the sofa.
Sunday
Women and shopping. On a Sunday! She asked me to go, but my Office
extended edition arrived in the post yesterday and I hadn't seen it yet. She
didn't seem to care when I said no.
Monday
A new week, a new resolution. I will only watch one film a day, will spend only
three hours online each evening, and will get to bed before two am every night.
I will make love with my girl every other day, starting from tonight. Our
relationship has been in the doldrums, and this will get it back on its feet.
Yes, I'm determined, and it's worth working at.
Tuesday
OK, will try again tonight. She's got to be willing, after all.
Wednesday
Christ its been ten days now. And NOW she says she's got her period. (She
hasn't.)
Thursday
She didn't come home last night, she stayed with a friend. She'd gone out in her
car, they'd had three bottles of wine so she didn't want to drive home. What's
wrong with a fucking taxi I want to know?
Friday
She's gone. For the weekend, I presume. She packed when she got home from work,
stuffing clothes into a case while I was busy catching up on the messages on a
Star Trek fan website. Haven't been there for ages, there was masses to read and
respond to. Bloody trekkies, they post so much shit that has to be waded
through. She mumbled something about her mother and her best friend
and Cornwall. I don't know, she never bloody talks to me so how should I know
what she's doing? Fuck her. Hopefully she'll come back in a more responsive and
communicative mood.
Trouble is, another two days abstinence. And what the fuck am I going to DO for
two days on my own?
Saturday
Footie, Star Wars (again), Office extended edition (again), fifteen Stellas and
a vindaloo. Not even a bloody phone call.
Monday
No Sunday blog cos I didn't get out of bed.
She's not back yet.
Tuesday
She's not back.
Wednesday
She came back, packed another case, and went to stay with her friend. She was
saying something, but, like, Spurs were playing Man Utd and Man U were two goals
down so what the fuck was I supposed to do? I think she said she was staying
with her friend. I don't fucking care. Sod her.
Thursday
Like, she's not coming back. She sent a bloody email to tell me. A fucking
email! Who gets dumped by email? What kind of sad fuck gets dumped by a crappy
email?
Shit.
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Kathleen McGurl once got an A+ for a short
story in her 2nd year at secondary school. She has spent the last thirty years
trying to re-attain these dizzy heights of literary greatness. Now that she has
been published in Defenestration, she
feels she is well on her way.
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