​Sssssssssh!

Strictly has started!
It’s officially winter.

It’s cold, dark and stormy.

The fire has been lit for the first time.

Strictly is on the tellybox.

Mammy is snug in my room, making smoochie with my favourite.  It’s a REALLY good grapejuice actually, bought on sale in The Counter last week.  Herself-of-the-wine told me to make sure to let it breath…

I gave it 3 minutes and then started mouth to mouth.

The Him is watching Braveheart or some such shite in the other room.

The Him is not allowed to interrupt Strictly.

The Him values Him’s life and would like to live another day to see Him’s Jim.
The Him MAY alos be SLIGHTLY in S-Mum’s bad booklets.

Why?

Why? you ask…
I’ll tell you why shall I?
The HIM did NOT put the BIG GIANT BIN up to the road this morning.
S-Mum even HINTED AT HIM as he crept out of bed at 5am “Did you remember to get bin labels?”… (Sleepy, sweet, cute wife voice to remind Him of my tininess and not-of-the-putting-out-of-the-big-binability.)

It OBVIOUSLY didn’t work.
I lay in bed thinking “He’ll put the bin out. I’m so clever reminding him I am.”

He went out the door thinking “I remembered to buy bin labels and she only reminded me once. I am fricken awesome I am.”
Perspective lads.😑
So at 5.45am when I noticed the HUGE FECKING WHEELIE BIN STILL at the back door, imagine my surprise!

The sunrise was pink and beautiful.

My exhaltations were colourful to say the least.
That BIN weighs AT LEAST 15 stone.

I DO NOT weigh 15 stone.😂
I dragged nearly 2 times my bodyweight UP A BLOODY HILL. (OK, Maybe not quite 2 times my bodyweight, but for dramatic purposes I exaggerate. Shup…)🤐
Big bin.

Me in my PJs.

Big hill.

LOTS of expletives.

Savage dose of self-righteousness.
Worse than a workout?

Better than a workout?

Who knows, but one was NOT impressed. 🤐
And yes, of course I’m all about equal rights and gender equality.

Just not when the bin needs to go out.

😙😙