We had a fight yesterday, well actually I had a fight, launched a half ironed shirt at Geordie and stormed into our daughters room to play with Lego to calm down. By now most of you will have worked out that Geordie is a constant cause of distress to me, and while I love the scruffy sod he gets on my nerves so badly sometimes I could cry. Here’s how it went down.
‘Should we go for a walk around the village, get a bit of fresh air?’
‘Yeah okay then I’ll stick the iron on to sort some clothes‘
‘Why what’s wrong with what I’m wearing?’
You can probably guess which side of the conversation belong to whom? During this exchange Geordie was sporting a pair of Adidas navy blue track suit bottoms, with marks on, a long sleeve blue training top with a white marathon finishers t-shirt over the top, also with visible marks on it. Plus he wore the same clothes the day before (hence the marks). While we were conversing I started ironing a plain white t-shirt for him and silently bullied him into finding a clean pair of jeans. I pulled out a blue shirt and began to iron the collar when I stupidly asked ‘What’s up with you?’ to which I got a very terse reply resulting in me chucking the shirt at him and cracking on with my Lego building in the next room.
It’s so frustrating, why go out dressed like a retired P.E teacher when you have three, yes 3 wardrobes full of clothes that are perfectly clean, well-fitting and on trend? Arghhh I’m actually getting annoyed again writing this! Twenty minutes later he saunters out of the bedroom wearing jeans and the t-shirt, clearly ironing the rest of the blue shirt was a step too far and would seem like I had won that particular battle. Okay so he’s spent the last 10 years in the military being told what to wear and how to wear it, so what difference does it make if I give the orders? Oh dear that doesn’t sound like a recipe for a long and happy marriage does it? Just call me the domestic chief of staff.
If Geordie had no decent clothes (which lets face it would never happen) it wouldn’t bother me so much, but I’ve bought him shed loads over the years and its a constant battle to get him to take some pride in his appearance and to give a crap about how I feel walking down the street with the northern version of Worzel Gummage!
We’re off to a farmers market this morning, I’m genuinely worried someone might try to buy him to frighten off the crows!