Little Brain, You've Had A Busy Day.

Homer alone? Not quite!

The very small piece of brain lodged in the very-soon-to-be ex-Mrs Pither's head is causing her trouble again.
I keep urging her to have it removed because, if nothing else, it's a fire hazard. I mean, it's only a matter of time before it short circuits and sets alight all the alcohol-soaked cotton wool, sawdust and pieces of shredded newspaper which pack out the rest of her skull. Mrs P has, however, grown attached to this sliver of tissue and does, in truth, rely on it for autonomic nervous system functions such as digestion and phoning people up for no fucking reason.
Against my better advice, VSTB EW decided to call on this tiny, cranial collection of cells when she did some work on my laptop yesterday morning. Mrs P, having the touch of a rapist, HAS to use a mouse instead of the touchpad and that prompted the following exchanges between lounge and study (I swear the following is true):
"How do you plug it in?" bellowed the bewildered spouse.
"It's wireless, doombrain!!" I shouted back.
"Aaah!! That's clever, isn't it?"
"It certainly never ceases to amaze me."
"It still doesn't work."
"Have you put the wireless plug in the computer?"
"I thought there wasn't a plug."
"THE WIRELESS PLUG!!!!"
"What's a wireless plug?"
"It's a little, oblong piece of plastic with an oblong piece of metal at the end."
"Aah!!............where's the wireless plug."
"On the bottom of the mouse."
"..............uurmm..........uurmm.........no it isn't."
I tramped upstairs to the study, turned the mouse upside down and revealed to the awestruck Mrs P the plug, in a little recess, stuck on a magnet.
"Wow!! That's clever, isn't it?"
I had got halfway back down the stairs when I heard the almost predictable "How on earth do you plug it in?"
Relax, focus, breathe and count to ten, I thought to myself. I trudged back upstairs to find...TRUST ME, THIS IS TRUE...Mrs P repeatedly sliding the mouse over the edge of the computer in a forelorn effort to get the plug underneath to somehow slot into it!!!!
"No, not quite, dear," I said. "The slight error you've made is not to take the plug off the mouse first. See?"
"Wow, that's clever, isn't it?"
"Yes dear. It is, indeed, almost mind boggling. Can I go back downstairs now?"
"Yes. Thanks. I'm ok now."
That'll be the bloody day, I thought. Sure enough, not 30 seconds later, she shouted down "Where do I plug it in?"
'In your fucking head' would be a start, I thought, beginning to get mildly annoyed. "Put it in one of the USB ports!!!!"
There was an ominous silence for a couple of minutes. Now, sometimes it is more comforting to hear VSTB EW wittering on than it is to experience the dreaded silence. You see, whenever there is silence I picture Mrs P, with her tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth and her brow furrowed, concentrating on trying TO DO something - something she shouldn't be doing!!! I was right to worry. The silence was soon broken.
"TAP, KNOCK, KNOCK, BASH, BASH, CRACK, TAP, BASH!!!!!!"
I panicked. "JESUS...H...FUCKING...CHRIST!!! That don't sound right!!" I thought to myself. "What the fuck is going on?"
I raced upstairs and burst into the study to find.......wait for it.......Mrs P using the mouse in an attempt to HAMMER THE WIRELESS PLUG INTO A PHONE SOCKET on the laptop!!!!
"It doesn't fit," she wailed.
"And nor will anything else now! You've also cracked the bleedin' mouse!! Brilliant!!!"
Yes, the phone plug socket is now bent so much it is unusable and the mouse is currently being held together with Sellotape!
My very-soon-to-be unbetrothed's piece of brain sadly kicked in a couple of times more before yesterday was out, notably when she drove to pick me up from doing the shopping in the village. She duly pulled up outside the greengrocer's as arranged but, as the shop assistant and I staggered towards the car with about ten bags of shopping and I reached for the door handle, she promptly drove off, leaving me, said assistant and said groceries standing on the pavement in the rain - for half an hour!!! She finally returned and, when I asked "Why did you drive off, my dearest?" she replied "Oh, I'd just remembered that I needed to go to the Post Office."
As far as Mrs P is concerned, there is truth in that old line "If you had a brain you'd be dangerous". Grantham shall not have her, however.