Plan B

Sometimes I feel my Plan A is not working. Plan A being : raise my two gorgeous children with father of aforementioned children in happy, loving, open-minded family atmosphere, see both children off to university/decent jobs, go travelling together, go grey together, enjoy each other’s company and get really good at cryptic crosswords and/or cultivating rhododendrons

However, for the past couple of weeks Plan A has not being going to plan.

L’Homme is currently suffering from Technician-On-Tour Syndrome (T.O.T.S) which basically means he gets so used to living a life of freedom and adult organisation/social codes/wild fun, that he can’t adapt to life with a strong-minded, loud-mouthed woman, two small, bouncy kids with high-pitched squeals and a creaky, deaf labrador when he comes home. He is no longer capable of taking other living entities into account. All runs smoothly as long as I happen to be in agreement with EVERYTHING he suggests, but the moment I have an alternative thought on something – anything – it could be a tiny weeny minor detail such as what plate to put the potatoes on, I metamorphose into a SHE-DEVIL HELL-CAT. How dare I suggest something that he doesn’t agree with? What kind of a maniac am I? I should be concentrating on “making things simple”, which means basically never having a single thought/opinion/urge that isn’t neatly aligned with his own. And what the hell am I doing out of the kitchen/laundry-room/mop-room anyway?

At times like this I secretly work on Plan B. This involves my friend Ms. Harila (who is an anagram). Her man suffers from the same awful syndrome.

Plan B would mean the two of us moving in together, with our kids, and spending our days giggling, drinking tea and then coffee, organising absolutely everything that could possible be organised, having ideas and exchanging them freely without being subjected to eye-rolling, putting 80’s pop bands in order of hairstyle ridiculousness, eating muesli for lunch, swimming in the pool, swimming in the river, painting our toenails, reading books, drinking wine in the evenings and enjoying life without the stress of (French theatre technician) male life-partners. We would have many lovers which we would swap and then chuck out when they started to get annoying. We would grow old happily as Nila, Tommy and Léonie grew up in our loving care.

Meanwhile, our blokes would be forced to live together and would kill each other by the end of the year  month  week for not agreeing on how thickly one should slice the saucisson. We would feel slightly remorseful but would soon get over it and order a load more second-hand Booker prize novels on Amazon.
Well, it makes me smile anyway.
Ah, I feel better already!

5 thoughts on “Plan B

    • As in, my Plan B would happen IN ENGLAND?
      Could you reorganise the climate beforehand please?
      I want to be able to swim in Ms. Harila’s pool at least 7 months of the year, not just ten days mid-August.

  1. I have had a word with Haringey council, and they are willing to change it from 2 months of decent weather and 10 of crap weather to the other way round – just for you mind.

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