a domestic affair

I came across another dilemma today. In searching for some part-time help for his business, he has been approached by a woman who wants to re-train from mechanics to arboriculture. Not your average career for a female so hats off to her. But I have come over all cavewoman about it, like she is threatening to take the attention of my dominant male. As if we are in some wildlife sanctuary where females compete for attention of the male species (sounds like your average Saturday night club scene). So rather than do as one girlfriend suggests and do some sleuthing to assess the competition, or as another woman I know, dress up to the nines and parade around the other female as if to say ‘don’t even try it bitch!’

I have spelt it out to him – step out of line and you wont see me for dust. I don’t believe in meddling, if you are not good enough for him (even after lots of years and a couple of kids) you are better off on your own than feeling like second best.

So while my mind is mulling over the fate of our relationship and troubles in the playground with my daughter and meddling mothers, I am continuing to make vey bad cakes (another baking disaster this evening) and produce laundry that smells worse after it has been washed. Of course I blame the oven and the washing machine for failing to turn me into  a domestic goddess.

I will now retreat to the mahhoosive book that is Alistair Campbell’s diary entries of the Blair years.

I am blogging every day to raise money for Unicef – if you can help visit Unicef’s site.

Thanks for reading.

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