Complete with just a hint of a muffin top. Or muffin back.
Here’s what happened on my Valentine’s Day:
Awoke just after 5am to Miss3 gently pummelling me in the face with her plastic shoe. The one I got from the dusty and dirty floor of a Vietnamese market after waiting for a family of small children to try it on. The one that recently walked through her brother’s crap, and while extensively cleaned, I can confirm it still smells rather suspicious.
Certainly not the aroma of a Valentines bouquet, FFS!?
Got up. Got #1Hubby a real coffee, not an instant one. Even made him breakfast. I am nothing if not super romantic.
Oh okay, I threw an LCM at him that the kids had missed.
Waited sufficient amount of time before sarcastically wishing him a Happy Valentines Day.
Waited more than enough time for him to panic, apologise, and hand me the credit card because it was now 7am and he had dared to forget to shower me with Valentines wishes thus far.
Still waiting for that to happen, FFS!?
He did iron my shirt though. But I think it was more a stalling tactic to avoid scraping cereal and yoghurt off Mstr3, who treats it as body paint every freaking day, FFS!?
Farewell #1 Hubby with a bit more effort than normal, since he was heading off to Sydney for a few days on a
Take Miss6 to school.
Take twins to daycare.
Return to school with miss6’s water bottle and library bag.
Return home to empty the potty, FFS!?
TMI, right? But still, FFS!?
Go to work and spend an acceptable portion of my day working rather than trawling Facebook to seethe over the pics of impressive bouquet’s and loved up status updates of others.
Watch as multiple impressive bouquet's are delivered to what must be every other female and a few males in the building, FFS!?
Boss offers me the newspaper so I can check to see if #1 Hubby left me a message in “The Book of Love”. Nearly fall off chair as I choke and snort (in a totally refined and ladylike fashion) at such a suggestion.
Regain my composure and assume he was being sarcastic. He is older and wiser and has been married for longer than I. He knows the deal.
Turns out, the deal is to religiously buy your wife her favourite lingerie and take her out to dinner for Valentines Day, different restaurant each year, all his doing, no prompting required, FFS!?
I can only imagine what she has to do in return for such tip top husbandry.
Finish work, round up the kids, trudge to shops to purchase dinner. Highlight of my day : Sara Lee ice cream is half price. Hello dinner!
Feed kids nutritious dinner while I count down the very seconds until they are in bed and I can bust out my frozen dinner of sorts.
As I finally crack open the FIRST tub, #1 Hubby calls.
Not to wish me a Happy Valentines Day, or check if I’ve found the present he’s hidden for me, or advise that he has called to chase up the delivery of my impressive bouquet, FFS!?
He’s calling to detail the fancy pants restaurant meal he’s enjoying. A meal we couldn’t afford. And let’s be honest, I’m not sure I’d be prepared to be the kind of wife who warrants such a fancy meal. No energy. Must sleep. Dreams of breaking an appreciative Wentworth Miller out of Prison Break to be had. Priorities.
Get rid of #1 Hubby only when his corn fed, farm bred, rain forest alliance certified, hand reared, genetically unmodified yet smugly superior prime steak and mixed seafood arrives, FFS!?
Secretly wish him a previously undiscovered seafood allergy.
Feast on far too much Sara Lee ice cream by the mood lighting provided by my laptop, while watching NCIS.
It is a romantic idyllic life that I lead, no?
Whine a bit on Facebook and Twitter.
Glowless provides me with an excellent suggestion on how to top off my night…via text message. Such was the nature of her suggestion. I love her for that. Counting it as my one and only Valentine, FFS!?
Just as I’m about to go to sleep, #1 Hubby calls again. Not to wish me goodnight, his sweet Valentine and all that soppy crap. Instead, to advise me of all the Foxtel sports channels he gets in his hotel room, and how he’s planned out his next few nights of TV viewing, kicking back on the enormous soft bed in his hotel room, FFS!?
I give him a 2 finger salute from my end of things, regretting the lack of video chat for the first time ever, and hang up while he is still rabbiting on about the effing cable TV channels, FFS!?
But it’s okay, because it turns out he did get me something for Valentine’s Day after all. It’s called an extra 5 nights in Bali after Christmas while, as yet unbeknown to him, he brings the twins home on his own and leaves me with only Miss6 to wrangle between cocktails. Again. He is so thoughtful like that.
