8.56

 The Long Suffering Husband was getting on my nerves yesterday. He’d done nothing wrong but he was just always there. Everything he said wound me up. I could hear him thinking. He chewed too loudly. He breathed too much. I wasn’t sure I was going to get through it without a murder charge. 

It’s funny how, in all this time of being forced to exclusively see only each other we had been fine with it but now that there’s a prospect of seeing other people it’s getting a bit tiresome.

I suggested that I was going to my daughter’s garden to do a bit of gardening for her.

“I’ll come with you,” he said, “I could cut the grass.”

It would have been mean if I’d have said that he couldn’t. He hasn’t seen anyone either. So he came with me and my daughter could tell. I suspect she asked both of us privately if the other was causing irritation. I know she asked me.

Every time one of us got a bit snappy with the other she said, “Eight fifty six!”

This morning the LSH has left the house on his own for the first time since before Christmas. There has been some trepidation and planning over the event for days. Bags have been packed and re-packed, sun cream and hats have been checked. The hedgehog wheels have been replaced. Balls have been washed. He had a fretful night’s sleep, dreaming about being buried in sand or drowning in water and losing the Masters but he’s done it. He left the house. His tee off time, an oddly specific 8.56am.