How many Mrs Pithers does it take to change a lightbulb? Truth be told, I don't know the precise answer. All I do know is it's certainly more than one.
My Soon-To-Be Ex-Wife stumbled through the front door 48 minutes ago after a night out at a gay club in Big City (she's not swapped her bus travel card but it is a long story). She promptly switched on the hall light and the bulb pinged - bye, bye light (second time in two days). Then, as I was coming downstairs to investigate the associated slurrings, she switched on the landing light and that too went.
I switched on the kitchen and lounge lights in an effort to assess the remnants of the confused Mrs P standing in the hall and, in doing so, cast her a sideways "you're-a-bleedin'-disaster-area-admit-it" glance. She responded by belching "I'll changesha bulubs, I'll changesha bulubs!" Bearing in mind she has never changed a lightbulb in her life, I sat back and watched the impromptu entertainment which began with her scouring......Ooh, hang on......there's just been a loud smash!!! I'll explain in a minute. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes. Mrs P's search for a new lightbulb began with her scouring the breakfast cereals' cupboard in the kitchen. "Noooooo!" I chuckled. "Cold, cold." She then went outside to the greenhouse (seriously!). "Much colder. Much, much colder." When she pulled open the kitchen cupboard door concealing the washing machine I couldn't take any more and so directed her to the confusingly named "lightbulbs cupboard".
There followed half an hour of "Ooh, dammits", "Flippin' things" and "Gerrin, sod yas" until she finally appeared around the lounge door to announce that she had changed both the bulbs. At that precise moment, as I was writing "......I sat back and watched the impromptu entertainment...." above, there was the sound of the shattering glass I mentioned. The landing bulb she claimed to have replaced had fallen out and come crashing down into the hall. "Theresh no more bulubs," she proclaimed, dustpan and brush in hand. "I'll go get shome." When I pointed out that the possibility of finding an all-night lighting shop were slim she turned dejectedly and headed off upstairs to bed, dustpan still in hand. Little girl, you've had a busy day.
Well, it's now 1am and, not for the first time following one of Mrs P's incident-packed returns from a night out, I am wide awake. Sadly, I have nothing for Grantham.
4.2
2.7
8
1.6
0
5.9
Shaggy Blog Stories
4 comments:
By strange coincidence, my bathroom light has ceased to work. Am I perhaps STBE Mrs P?
I don't know? Did we first have sex 17 years ago in the back of a Mini 850?
Dunno, but I thought it was a 1959 Ford Anglia.
Light bulbs cupboard? What's wrong with under the sink alongside dishcloths, boot polish, bleach, windolene (yummy on toast), dog food, dusters, fuses, plugs, the entire 1976-77 collection of Wolves programmes and an unlimited supply of baked bean just in case the Iranians get the bomb.
Post a Comment