Imagine getting home from work mid week to discover that your partner is intoxicated. And not just a bit tipsy either. Well, I’m slowly learning that this is just a normal occurrence when you live with a shift worker. You see, up here in the red dirt, weekends and public holidays really don’t mean anything. Half the time no one knows what day it is due to the roster they work. And so, Mr W.’s “weekend” often occurs mid week … totally opposite to my mon to fri grind.
Well, I came home from work last Tuesday (which was Mr W.’s Sunday) to discover Mr W. having a few quiet ones, or so I thought. It wasn’t until everyone had left that I actually discovered just how pissed he really was. Noticing that he was stumbling around like an emu on ice skates, I asked him if he was ok. He replied … nope … and then he proceeded to cook me dinner (something he would never do while he was sober). God bless my gorgeous Mr W., he had lovingly marinated some chicken breasts in Nandos sauce all day. And so he got out the George Foreman and proceeded to char grill the chicken. He was so obssessed with getting that criss cross pattern on the chook but he’s just lucky he didn’t end up with a nice little criss cross pattern on the side of his face.
Well, the fun didn’t stop there. After watching me put the garlic bread in the oven, he asked me to cook him some garlic bread … no less than three times! Now I must admit, despite the fact that his brain had clearly left the building, he did cook some very amazing chicken. It’s a shame our dinner conversation wasn’t as juicy.
Now, it was about 7pm by this stage and Mr W. was well, shall we say, a little worse for ware so I told him that he needed to have a shower. And it’s at this point that I secretly started wishing that we had a video camera permanently set up in our bedroom (no Mr W. we can’t do this, it’s just a blog honey).
Have you ever had to undress someone who’s quite inebriated? It’s not easy at the best of times … especially when you know you’re not gonna get lucky. Well, I managed to get his shirt off. It was his socks that nearly landed him in the local hospital. You see, we have one of those gorgeous wooden beds with a flat edge that you can sit on. And so Mr W. managed to perch himself on here (after several attempts) and stuck his foot out … his way of “helping” to get his socks off. Not realising that he was wearing 2 pairs, I pulled them … and a drunk Mr W. has gone from sitting on the edge of the bed to sitting on the floor quicker than he can stick a lemon wedge in a corona.
His head has then made contact with the chest of draw … oops. I thought I’d killed him … but no such luck. Before I knew it he was laughing uncontrollably … obviously no brain, no pain. He’s just lucky he missed the edge the bed … or red dirt would be the least of my problems. And so, after 10 minutes of watching him laugh until he cried, I managed to stand him up. It took me another 10 minutes to get his pants off … longest that’s ever taken 😉
I decided that for his own health and safety (they’re big on that in these mining towns) that a shower was a bad idea and so just put him to bed. Now you can imagine that I was really not impressed at this point. I was expecting a romantic evening with my man …
Obviously Mr W. has no recollection of his near death experience, or the opinions he expressed about his mother in law whilst in this state … but he is starting to learn that the Pilbara Princess has a memory like an elephant and she never forgets. I had great pleasure in reminding Mr W. of the events of the night before when he woke up at 1am with a thumping headache. It’s funny that with such a great memory, I sometimes forgot where the panadol is in middle of the night.
Oh, and Mr W. … thank you for taking me out for a surprise lunch yesterday. That was really lovely sweetie. You’re half way there.
Love pp xx