I’m beginning to lose my rag with this shit.

Every weekend he’s off to fucking Brighton, he gets back and I get nothing but amateur dramatics. But this has been a long time comming I think.

On his birthday I kept tabs on the date for the whole month, got up at 6am like I usually do, go off to work, spend about an hour down the high street trying to get something rather appropriate and I get home at around 6:30pm (again as usual). I give him his birthday card and all I fucking get is “you were the last to remember”.

I’m just like “bitch what now?”, he doesn’t get up until about 8:15 every morning and only works within about a 10 minute drive and he’s telling me off for “being the last to remember”. I DON’T FINK SO.

So I put it to one side and ignore his bitch ass, until my car gets back. Then I wangle him in to spending the rest of his “quiet” birthday evening with his hands down my boot trying to figure out why my lights aren’t working. But of course that lesson in “I’m not having your shit” wasn’t quite learned.

Over this weekend I left my wallet at work, on my desk, 30 miles away. My car had about 5 miles of petrol in it and I had a whopping 67p on me in cash. The obvious problem with this senario is that the banks are closed and I ain’t got shit on me. I ring him and ask “do you have any kind of money in the house, I need to go in to Ciren to get my wallet, I’ve got money but I can’t get it out of a branch and my card is in my wallet”. I mamage to get £4.72. Good enough for me.

I get my wallet back, but some shit at the Sainsburys, return home.

Today when HRH gets in I get the usual shit, four hours of sulk because I’m obviosuly such a fucking birden on his social life (oh wait, I can’t be since he’s always fucking off in Brighton, maybe he might want to look in a mirror, I can’t do shit fuck all because I HAVE TO LOOK AFTER THE FUCKING DOGS).

The first fucking thing he says is “Why did you have to go to Cheltenham (shows you how much he listens) to get your wallet? Couldn’t you wait until Monday (again, listening aspect)”. Under normal circumstances I probably would have beat the mother fucker down to the floor for even suggesting my life is a dismal waste of time, but I was caught off guard and only came back with “because I had to go out and do things, like go to Sainsburys” and he replies “Why?”

Well why fucking not?

So I’ve been trying to ignore him until he calms down before I consider something like pouring bleech in his food, because lets face it, I’m seriously considering a hearty round of Domestic Violence™. I might slap him around with an iron and scream “BITCH WHY YOU BLEEDING? BITCH WHY YOU BLEEDING?” and answer his statements with “WHY?”.

And now just to push my buttons (or potentially a glass in his face) he’s on the phone to his little brighton massive being rather cheerful.

I have a feeling I might start looking for dirt cheap flats again, I’m getting really sick of this shit.

Listening to:

Vibe: NoMoodTag

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