Journey through space to the Planet Fabulous, where the Ruler of the Universe will see you shortly.

Monday, December 08, 2003

Sunk Without a Trace

I adore my lovely Wife for many reasons. He has hair like Goldie (that’s either the Blue Peter dog or Mz Hawn, not the rapper). He can breathe through his ears. And he has a fantastic ability to torpedo anything that I find even slightly impressive.

Like China White. When I finally got to see him this week, I launched into an overly excited, expansive review of the glorious place, the seating and the clientele, the waitresses and the toilets, while he lay patiently back and waited for me to finish*. I did, and he mulled it over for a second as he put something worthy and with lyrics on the stereo. Then he cocked an eyebrow and stated that it “Sounds like something from an Atomic Kitten video.”

And, damn him, he’s right. Gah.

He’s done this many times beforehand; one Gertie will never forgive him for was an occasion where he and I were cooing over Mark, our Impossibly Beautiful Housemate. The Wife looked up from the paper and announced that he’d seen Mark running to the bathroom in his pants the other day. Gertie and I exchanged glances; we had him now. We could draw him into our fan club with ease now he’d seen the unearthly beauty that is Mark In His Pants. “A sight to behold, is it not?”

“He looked like a skinned chicken,” he stated and went back to the paper.

Love him.

* Do stop making up your own jokes at the back.

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