gruel

Kids are very happy as they have friends with equally vivid imaginations round for sleepover. I'm sure they are all dreaming of magic aliens and invisible elephants. And so long as they don't decide to come and tell me about it at five in the morning, I'm happy too. Hubby, however, isn't happy. He is sad. If he were a type of food it would be gruel (by the way, does anyone actually know what gruel is?). Because of the whole leech-adventure thing, it's been a very short week, and he's tried to squish too much in. So we thought we'd just watch a DVD tonight. The only DVD in the pile that we hadn't watched yet was one called 'Edmund', which was very interesting, involving murder, sodomy, racism etc., all very cleverly put together but hardly something to lighten the mood.

Managed deftly to avoid being on the new partner's club committee this week by saying "erm, I just don't want to do it" to the lovely Chair. God knows I will never be either a diplomat or a saleswoman. I am just so pants at wriggling out of things (or wriggling into them, either). I feel simultaneously guilty and relieved. I wonder whether a bloke would struggle with something like this. I don't think Hubby would. If he were in my shoes, a trailing spouse, and was asked to be on a committee like this, he wouldn't bother with the niceties, and would just say 'not while there's breath in my body' or something equally clear, whereas I just fudge the issue with lots of apologetic hand-wringing because I don't want to upset anyone.

Anyway, it's done, so no coffee-and-bingo mornings for me (I want to say 'hurrah' but I'll have to say it in a very quiet and meek voice, so as not to upset anyone).

Anyway, should really go - 10pm is lights out time...