JF has been contracting in Cornwall, project-managing an enormous dairy that’s being refurbished, and working in temperatures of between 30-50 degrees, all in hairy socks, steel-toed boots and hi vis jacket. Grumpy . doesn’t . cover . it.
Further, it appears, the chafing is something for wifely debate during our long-distance calls. I hear my mother’s voice as I tell him to wear cotton undies, eat plenty of fruit and try and talk him out of encasing his feet in Harris Tweed. Actually I hear someone else’s mother; mine would just encourage him to hit the beer and chafing be damned.
Anyway, because of his furry-footed journey to Dante’s Cornwall, I was left to attend a good mate’s 50th solo.
As ever, terrific company, he and his lovely Mrs putting on a great night, lots of interesting folk to talk to, so didn’t feel too shabby about being the one uncoupled middle-ager.
That is, until I was approached by a friend of said mate. I always look forward to a good chat with him at the bar of their local pub when JF and I are in attendance as he always has something surprising to talk about. I was not disappointed.
Having referenced the fact that my lovely husband was hot-foot in the very toe of England he was straight in with a proposition that had nothing to do with birdlife. I reminded him that JF, the man I’m married to, was still my husband, not dead, just in Cornwall. He embellished the proposition. Still less than engaged with his suggestion for alternative entertainment, I reminded him that I’m in the kind of marriage where that particular diversion is exclusively reserved for those who’ve signed the contract. And that I didn’t recall a third signature. He then commenced shouting his mobile number at me. I hiked an eyebrow and announced: ‘I’m not making any effort to remember that, nor am I writing it down – duh!!’
He flounced out.
Having missed the bbq I was now officially squiffy. For some reason I decided to phone JF. It was gone midnight. He was now hot – REALLY TIRED – and still grumpy. I didn’t mention the incident. I have a question though. When offered casual sex, does that mean no tie for the gentleman?