Herself’s back is killing her plus her ankles have disappeared. Fluid retention and carrying an extra passenger has made her pretty angry with life. She needs a massage.
“The feckin’ state of me… nothing fits and everything hurts.”
“Your skin is glowing though,” I smiled which was returned with a scowl.
As I have mentioned in earlier posts, you feel pretty useless as the partner of a pregnant woman. Sure you do your best by doing all if not the majority of the domestic stuff, plus you accompany her to all her appointments if you have an understanding employer but you’ll never understand what it feels like to have another human being growing inside you. Anyhow that’s a very long way of saying I bought her a few sessions with a masseuse. She loves massages, well at least I thought she did.
“You did what?”
“I got a few sessions with John the masseuse,” sensing her ungratefulness I added, “but you love massages.”
“Have you seen the state of me or am I the only one who sees that I’m transforming into a tank?”
“You’re not a tank, you’re a very beautiful pregnant…”
“Don’t you dare patronize me.” Sometimes you never can win.
“OK, I’ll take them then. My neck is very sore from all the cooking and cleaning that I have been doing.” That fact went down like a sack of meat at a vegan summit.
“I feel like I might stab you now so it’s probably best I pay John a visit.”
Several hours later she returned from her massage. I was expecting a more relaxed partner that had forgotten her earlier murdering ideation of yours truly. I was hoping for a woman that moved with the ease and confidence of someone that just had an exotic holiday or exotic sex or both. Instead I was greeted by an even more irate woman.
“That was horrific!” I noted that her ankles had re-emerged.
“Your ankles have made an appearance, that’s great isn’t it love?”
“I still want to stab you so maybe you should go to the pub for a few hours.”
“What happened is that I tried really hard to keep in a fart whilst he worked on my legs but the fart bet me.”
“It was so loud, like the dying bellows of a wildebeest.”
“And Christ the smell… it was like a gang of of the great unwashed marched out my hole right into John’s nostrils.”
“He spluttered everywhere Birdie. The shock of it made him topple over the stand with the massage oils. The oils in the jars smashed. What with the shards of glass making him bleed and the oils drenching him, he looked like a giant newborn writhing on the ground. I grabbed my vagina because for a moment I thought I’d given birth”
“I forgot that he’s bald… yeah he’d definitely pass for a baby.” That observation did not bring me closer to her, I was definitely not back in the fold.
“Jesus Birdie, I’ve no control over my body anymore never mind my arse, why the hell did you get me a massage?”
“To be nice, I guess.”
“I know you meant well but you better go to the pub now for a very long time.”
“OK,” I said whilst trying to look and sound contrite. But really I was delighted with my punishment.