FRIDAY NIGHT last was a picture of domestic bliss in our house. Himself was getting ready for a Boys Night Out whilst I curled up by the fire in my Onesie with a glass of wine, preparing to party with Alan Carr.
Himself was in great form. It was the First Friday of the month. And what does that mean? First Friday means Boys Night, an event dreamed up by my dearest in a bid to escape my clutches for a night and go out on the town with ' The Lads'. It ultimately results in a p*** up and Him being rendered totally incapacitated for the rest of the weekend.
I humour him because God knows I've had more girls nights out than he's had hot dinners and to be fair you could set your watch by him. Come 2.15 am, he falls in the door regaling me with his exploits.
So when he fell in the door (literally) at 1.20 am last Friday night I smiled fondly to myself, and thought ' ah sure God love him. He couldn't stick the pace'. After ten minutes of staggering around trying to take his clothes off, he finally managed to fall into bed and began speaking in tongues. ' Are you shleep cuzzz I'm wide wake,' he slurred, trying to warm his freezing feet on my onesie.
'Get OFF me,"'I muttered before asking him why was he home so early. "Town isssss bringggg. Dead. Ladsh gone fur kebabs. I got taxi,' he informed me before conking out and snoring his head off for the night. LEAVING HIM to sleep it off, I got up the next morning and was making a cup of tea when the doorbell rang at 9 am. An angry looking man was standing there. ' Was your husband out last night?' he inquired, very annoyed.
'Oh sweet Jesus tonight, what has he done?' I thought. I nodded mutely at the angry man. ' You must get him. I need to talk to him urgently. Is he missing something?' he asked.
I went down to the bedroom to rouse him from his alcohol-induced coma. 'Get up! There's an angry man at the door and he wants to talk to you about last night,' I spat at him.
He looked at me in confusion before falling out of bed and heading for the door with only his jocks on. ' Put your bloody dressing gown on you big eejit,' I said, before following him up the hall.
Himself tentatively opened the door to angry man. ' Were you in town last night?' angry man asked him. ' Eh, ye, yesss,' stuttered Himself. ' And did you get a taxi home?' It took Himself a good minute before he was able to answer in the affirmative.
'Did you lose anything?' angry man asked. Himself scratched his head and started searching his dressing gown pockets. Not the brightest after a night on the tiles.
Angry man triumphantly whips out Himself 's wallet from behind his back. ' You left this in my taxi last night. You can look in it, everything is there. You should be more careful.'
'Fair play, fair play,' muttered Himself , thanking the taxi driver and then asking me for twenty quid to give him as a thank you!
Honestly, you can't leave him go anywhere.