So, the latest in the Mrs M saga…she attended the Rock Star’s gig on the beach and he sent her a text asking if she’d made it and suggesting they meet up afterwards. She replied that she was indeed in attendance and would like to hook up. However, although she could see that the message had been read, he didn’t respond. Cutting her losses, she toddled off home and drowned her sorrows in a bottle of red only to wake up several hours later saying that he was in one of her local bars. By then, it was too late to go back out.
This was all relayed in text messages only for her to ring me for an update. She and Mr M had sat down for a crisis talk. She told him that wasn’t sure she had the energy, strength or impetus to fix their marriage problems. He was wounded and said that he wasn’t prepared to throw everything away so easily. Stressed, Mrs M decided to take the dog for a walk to clear her head. She walked into town whereupon she stumbled upon none other than the Rock Star! They had a chat and basically said their goodbyes. They promised to keep in touch and he told her she was a beautiful woman.
So, that’s that, I guess. I told her that if she believed in Fate, she could view these innocent encounters with the Rock Star as a springboard into trying to salvage her marriage. Sometimes it takes something momentous to drag us out of ruts and take action, whether that was giving in to her desires or sitting down with Mr M and sorting out their issues. So, no harm down at the end of the day plus she’s got a brilliant anecdote under her belt.
Mr P and I had ‘the talk’ last night. He asked whether I ever felt that maternal gooeyness when I held a child, which isn’t very often admittedly. I replied honestly. No, I don’t, I can appreciate a cute kid but I just can’t visualise myself as a mother. I told him that if he really wanted a baby, I would be prepared to have one and just hope that the maternal instinct kicked in eventually but he said that he didn’t want such an important decision to be solely his to make lest I end up resenting him should I fail to respond well to motherhood. We both also conceded however that we didn’t want to hit fifty and think “oh shit! We forgot to have kids!”
He went on to say that if he wanted a baby so much then we probably would have had one by now and that he liked the idea of fatherhood but probably wasn’t prepared for the actuality. I’m glad he said that as up until now, it’s always been me thinking about the boring practicalities. I think he views parenthood with rose-tinted spectacles on, imagining adorable bath times and wheeling a pushchair through crunchy, golden leaves on a bracing autumnal day whereas I see the reality every day: frazzled mums with no make-up on and their hair scraped back struggling to heave their buggies onto the bus.
We settled on reassessing the situation in a year and, obviously, should an accident occur, that would take the decision out of our hands completely.
The Redhead Sister and the Artist are getting on well. To counter their hell-raising habits, they decided to stay in the other evening, made a curry and settled down with a Mighty Boosh box set and she actually really enjoyed herself. Maybe the Artist could be The One?
As a comical aside, the other day at work, Mrs S referred to the stationery cupboard as ‘the glory hole’. When she looked askance at my sniggering, I had to explain to her exactly what a glory hole was. She was astonished that she would now have to come up with a different moniker for the cupboard under the stairs.