K8 the GR8

‘Scuse my lack of postage of posts again.  What with being a mother and a nurse and a taxi driver and a chef and a window cleaner and an occupational therapist and an advisor and a treasurer and a house cleaner and a wiper of little bottoms, it’s been tough edging the old blogging in.

So TAT doesn’t want a Playstation 3 anymore.  Great!!!  No, now he wants an Xbox 360 because his mate just got one. 

“I found a spare €370 lying around in me bank account, so can I get one?”

It’s amazing how grown men can be so similar to eleven year old boys sometimes.

The thing is, I’m not a complete bitch.  I’m not just keeping him under the thumb or around my little finger or whatever you want to call it.  I wouldn’t mind an Xbox either, but the thing is we’re supposed to be moving house soon and I’m trying hard to get TAT saving money, because if he thinks I’m forking out from my SSIA, he can fork right off.  Besides, I feel like a complete hypocrite buying the newest latest diamond-encrusted versions of things… I keep thinking of the homeless and the starving and the mistreated people out there.  Somehow the balance seems unstable, what with money being so relative an’ all.

That was my closing argument right there.  We can’t afford it yet.  But we will, soon.  End of a bloody long conversation.

That was then.  Now however, a certain somebody seems quite close to winning an award, and invited me to the doo.  Another excellent excuse to break out the Jenny Vanders dress?  A night in high society?  A chance to see that certain somebody break out into a drunken ‘Streets of London’ singsong with a guitar that has mysteriously conveniently materialised in the wee small hours? Yes please.

Except that when I excitedly told TAT about this upcoming event, he asked how much the tickets are, and I told him the truth.

“We can’t afford it.” 

He has me over a barrel.  Not a barrel of monkeys either.  A barrel of dirty sticky ’see how it works both ways?’  I didn’t even try to argue.

See how being virtuous sucks?  See how it hurts to be sensible?  What is that all about?