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I am thankful that I had a legitimate reason for not attending Husband’s team lunch yesterday.  I’m not so thankful for the nature of the reason.  I’m a little bit addicted to Campbells cuppa soups at the moment and in my haste to get my fix I left the teaspoon in the mug and stabbed myself in the eye with it.

CW Text: Can’t come to lunch. Sorry. Been stabbed in eye.

Reply: WTF? By who?

CW Text: Campbells. Very bad. It’s touch and go. If I die, don’t get over me.

Reply: R U dicking about or R U actually hurt.

CW Text:  What’s RU?

Reply: Are you.

CW Text: Am I what?

Reply: If you can see to text and take the piss then I will take that to mean you’re not dying. CU.

CW Text: What’s CU?

Reply: Short for c*nt.

I think Husband’s mad.  I’m starting to worry about the clothes situation.  He made it quite clear that I was to make sure that his wardrobe was full again by the end of the day.  After phoning the Royal Mail and being advised that delivery will be made within 2-4 working days, I had to swiftly come up with a plan to fill his empty wardrobe.
To my relief, my beautiful (ginger) niece has left her pencil case here and I was able to draw pictures of all the missing clothes and blu-tack them to coat hangers.  Dodged a bullet there, I think you’ll agree.
Husband arrives home late from work in a delightful mood considering I didn’t attend his work lunch.  He says that his Uni clothes were a huge hit and that he told everyone what had happened with my eye and they all send their best. Peachy.
Compared to his, my mood is admitidly a little less delightful- I attribute this to my mortal wound as my eye is actually, properly, not-even-joking hurting.  And I can’t see facebook without squinting. Add me here
Husband, to his credit offers to run me a Radox bath to ease my stresses and go to the shop to replenish my cigarette supply as I have self medicated the eye with nicotine and run out.  Everyone knows that there’s no better cure for stress than a soak in water than smells like a synthetic jungle and a fag.
My mood quickly improves as overall I’m pleased. I’ve managed to side step the humiliation of being seen in public with him and have resolved to change my facebook status to ‘separated’ in order to detach myself from him while his clothes are missing.  Just as soon as I can see it properly again.
After a blissful 40 minutes in the bath, drinking red wine and savouring my last ciggie, I hear Husband opening his wardrobe in the spare room. ‘Wow’ he says, he’s clearly impressed with the art work, although in hindsight, this may just as easily have been ‘Cow.’
By the time I emerge from the bath, (thoroughly soaked and looking like Gloria Huniford’s knee) Husband is in bed.  Bless him; he’s had a long day.
I’m pleased that he’s asleep because it’ll give me time to colour my drawings in.  I am, however, less pleased with the drawing of 20 Marlboro Lights he’s left on the coffee table.   CU.

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