Original format at http://craphousewife.blogspot.com/2011/03/and-zen-there-were-none-s… and   www.crapwifeblog.co.uk

While packing up items to take to the charity shop today, I came across a book called the ‘Stress Factor.’  Being known for my ability to prioritise anything over the task in hand, I read it.  According to this book I could be damaging my health, happiness and even my chi by being stressed.
This needs to stop  immediately.
I’ve spent most of the day drinking green tea and not letting things bother me.
For example, I am not bothered that Husband’s breakfast meeting was moved to lunchtime or that he informed me that he’s outgrown his suit and bought another one which is ‘mint’ (his word, not mine.)
Nor am I bothered that his glasses had ‘discoloured’ in the sun or that he had enough time to collect new contacts from SpecSavers.
I am not bothered that he’s not mentioned the porn mag.  And I’m not bothered that he didn’t pay for lunch, thus avoiding the cocks on the banknotes.
I was not even bothered by getting  50% of the way through this blog before realising that the ‘e’ button on the laptop is broken and that I’ve dropped more ‘e’s in 200 words than a 90’s rave dealer in ‘Ibeefa.’
When Husband got home this afternoon, he looked gorgeous, which didn’t bother me at all.  His meeting had been a success and we drank green tea by the pond, him talking about his meeting, me about how relaxed and not stressed I am.
We discussed current affairs and what to do if a bear is chasing you. I, knowing the answer, told him that if a bear chases you that you must run downhill as bears have short legs and they fall over when running downhill.  Oh! How we laughed when husband pointed out that there is nothing to verify this on the internet and that I’ve probably been dreaming documentaries again.  Clever Husband.  Of course, none of his laughing bothered me, being the Zen-like entity I am, I was able to detach myself and rise
above it.
Watching Husband in the garden, it became clear to me where I had gone wrong.  The zen thing was too much too soon.  Hooking me up to a lavender drip and shagging me with a panpipe wouldn’t have worked, so a cuppa green tea and some humming was never going to do it.
I can’t tell you the exact moment that caused me to snap, lock him out of the house and glue his house key to a plate, but I can tell you I feel better for it.
In short, I’ve learned something today.  Being a hippy sucks camel dick.  It is far more satisfying to make your husband post every item of his new outfit through the cat-flap (in exchange for the use of a key that has not been glued to a plate) than it is to take the high road.  How’s that for a fucking mantra?