With a spring in my step
Herself woke up this morning and demanded her mug of tea.
Now you have to understand that if you deny Herself her morning tea, it is enough to have a grizzly bear with a sore head cower and tremble behind a rock in fear. Morning tea is an essential morning requisite to wash down her first fag of the day, and to go without is a thousand times worse than Armageddon.
There was however a problem.
Having been woken by the postman at the ungodly hour of eight, and having been unable to go back to sleep, I had been up for some time and had attempted to make my own mug of tea. I had discovered to my disgust that the two cartons of milk in the fridge didn’t make the sloshy sound that milk cartons should make. I hesitantly tried pouring some milk from each and all I got from each was a sludge of sour milk. Fuck!
I don’t know what it is about milk. I always keep it in the fridge even in mid winter just in case. Somehow however it seems to have this impish sense of the weather and as soon as the frosts recede, it decides to go sour even though the temperature inside the fridge remains the same. Some people say that you can say that spring has arrived when your shoe can cover three daisy flowers on the lawn. Others say that spring has arrived when the birds start nesting. I say that spring has arrived when the fucking milk goes sour in the fridge.
Anyhows, I had just added a dash of cold water to my mug of tea and that made it palatable if not quite perfect.
But Herself wasn’t having any of this nonsense. Oh no. Tea has to have milk in it under some unwritten law dating back to Druidic times and she wasn’t going to tolerate anything in her tea except a dash of milk. I tried to appeal to her better nature that it would mean my dragging myself down to the shop, but then I remembered she doesn’t have one. Fuck!
So there was no alternative. I had to trolley down to the village whether I liked it or not.
I decided that if it was mild enough for the milk to go sour it was mild enough to go down to the village wearing just a shirt and I wouldn’t bother with a jumper or a coat. Another sign of spring is when I don’t bother with jumpers or coats so all was in order.
I got some funny looks in the shop.
Maybe I should have remembered to wear a pair of trousers as well?
Old music hall riddle :
Q.”What’s more important a wife or a pair of trousers”
A.”A pair of trousers ,you can go anywhere without a wife ! ”
Heh! Very old, I would imgine?
Get low fat or skim milk the next time… it lasts way longer. OR trade in your postman for a milkman QED.
Low fat? Skimmed milk? You one of those Healthists? I demand full fat with no added or subtracted shit, thanks very much.
Mrs D is similar – but she doesn’t take milk in her tea. Heh heh heh…!
It seems to be a common problem. Mornings are a time for tip-toeing and waiting for the first holler of the day.
Mrs Bucko is the same. I keep a tub of powerdered milk. Not that it does any good. It will sit there for months and then be rock solid whenever it’s actually needed.
That’s not too bad an idea… I used to use the stuff if we went camping or picnicking but that was yonks ago. I might try it again for emergencies.
Next time you visit a coffee shop, or stay in a hotel, grab a handful of those paper wrapped tube like single portions of powdered milk (and coffee and ketchup, mustard and stuff). Keeps for yonks – and longer still if you stick them in a tightly wrapped poly bag at the back of the freezer.
Get in some UHT stuff. It’ll sit in the cupboard for months, until a time such as this. It’s what I do, ‘cos I am very forgetful these days and quite uncoordinated. Wish I could buy a lot of other food stuffs in UHT format!
:o)
That’s the stuff they have in France. I never took to the stuff [even though it does last for ages]. And if I’m not fond of it you can imagine what Herself is like?
You have my sympathies…
:o)
Try getting a better ‘fridge, or new thermometer.
Tell Herself that tea is a modern innovation and that you should drink mead or ale in the mornings!
Ha!
Germans have a very precise (of course) word for my feelings reading this post; “Schadenfreude”. Dunno what the English equivalent word for it is…oh that’s right-there isn’t one. Lazy gits and emotional spastic parrots that we are we couldn’t be arsed coming up with a compound noun of our own to describe “pleasure derived by someone from another person’s misfortune” so we just nicked the German, plus ça change.
Anyways the reason for my “pleasure derived from another’s misfortune” is that The Bestes Frau In The World jacks up on strong anti-psychotics and anti-depressants every night and they-besides keeping her out of The Secure Unit, causing her to have a BMI equivalent to her age and losing all her hair- mean she sleeps 15 hours solid each night. I say ‘sleep’ but I doubt even Hieronymus Bosch on ergot had dreams like hers. The Kraken waketh not before the crack of noon, by which time I have of course ensured there is everything to hand she requires to greet the new morning , ok then, the new afternoon.
I knew there had to be an upside to Haloperidol. Thank you Janssen Pharmaceutica. Best thing to come out of Belgium since Fries and Tin Tin.
Sucks to be yous guys 😛
ps. from The Bestes Frau In The World’s recent ‘PIP’ (google it) interrogation:
Q.”Does she cook? Can she cook a meal?”
A.”What bit of ‘Paranoid Psychotic’ do you not understand? The bit about not letting her have access to sharp knives?”