The builder boyfriend and I have had a terrible row. In the heat of the moment, I said something truly awful to him that may have done irreparable damage. It wasn’t entirely my fault. I haven’t been sleeping. And when I haven’t been sleeping I become irrational. Fine, I become more irrational.
Suddenly, the other night, I fell asleep while lying on the sofa watching CSI Special Victims Unit. The overcomplicated plot acted like a powerful anaesthesia and I found myself drifting into precisely the sort of deep, blessed sleep I have been craving for months.
Before I drifted off, I had asked the builder to run me a bath. As I sank lower and lower, it did occur to me that I ought to tell him to have the bath but I didn’t get time before the duck-down bouncy castle of deep sleep enveloped me in its blissful environs.
The next thing I knew, I was being shaken awake. ‘Do you want this bath, or what?’ The builder was standing over me looking cross.
This is the thing I do not understand about men. Why do they lack the ability to exercise pragmatism and discretion? Why do they interpret every situation literally. I have no doubt that what was going through the builder’s mind was this: ‘The girlfriend for whom I have drawn a hot bath is now asleep. I must wake said girlfriend or said bath will soon cease to be hot and said girlfriend will not enjoy said hot bath. Right, here goes. WAKE UP! No, she’s not waking. I will have to shake her awake. Yes, that is obviously the right thing to do. If necessary, I will get a bucket of cold water and throw that on her to ensure she wakes up in time to enjoy her nice hot bath.
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