This morning I was woken to exchange presents - which I had none, whoopsies. I was in the post euphoric weekend hangover, with one kids staying home because of a little illness but more importantly he hadn't even started a project which was due today. My gift was a gift of love. Not that kind - well maybe that intention. I got a voucher to get waxed. I had to open it early because it was all booked for 10am that morning. Ugh.
Just for the record, a wax is not an enjoyable experience, and having been given this as a gift from him once before, one would imagine he wouldn't go down this track again. He is probably thinking I needed to get the hint, but frankly it makes me run a mile the other way. I may become a feminist and grow the hair under my arms so long I can french braid it.
Look, a lot of this rant is really about my own attitudes and feelings at the moment. Dealing with the depths of grief and not feeling very good about myself. I know there was good intentions behind this, and not purely the smutty place where I imagine, but I was the one who had to endure it. Maybe I should have booked him in for a back sac and crack to share the joy?
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