you couldn't make it up

life continues to offer ample blog-fodder. yesterday the estate agent was to come round to show yet more people the house. he was due at 11am. you would think that, as the peeps get up at 7am, and indeed herself had been up pretty much all night coughing, it would not present too much a problem to get the place ship-shape by then. but as usual, distractions loomed and herself was rushing round at 10.30 mopping the floors. she dived into the shower (a saying, dear readers) and soon bubbles were flying around.

my boy ran in. "there's a man at the door!" he squealed.

"what does he look like?" asked herself. my boy went back to have a look. "he's quite tall and he's wearing a coat."

"does he look smart?" asked herself, in an effort to ascertain whether he might be the postman or a meter reader. "quite smart," confirmed my boy. "well, give him the key to the garden room and say 'my mum's in the shower - can you show the people round the garden room first?' to the man."

my boy duly ran off, only to return very quickly. "i can't!" he hissed. "well i'm stark naked and if i go to the door they will run away!" said herself. my boy pondered this for a moment and decided that the possibility of herself standing naked and dripping at the door was a worse prospect than having to speak to the man in the coat.

herself, having persuaded my boy to bring her clothes into the bathroom, got dressed. my lady friend and i were put on our leads and off we went. our first port of call was our friends on the corner's house. once ensconced on a garden chair herself set about bringing her appearance back from the brink.

"what are you doing?" asked my boy, clearly being unfamiliar with the concept of a hairbrush.

"tidying myself up a bit before we go walking round the block, said herself. out came the make-up.

"this is so embarrassing!" said my boy, "there are builders in that house next door. they will think we are mad, sitting here with 2 lurchers with you putting on make-up!" i have to say i agreed with him. in the picture above you can see me desperately looking the other way. i had forgotten my sunglasses and false beard in the rush. when i am wearing them at least i can be sure of a certain degree of anonymity, as you can see in the picture below.

once herself had been transformed from medusa to a middle aged lady we set off for a walk. my boy, having had to speak to the man in the coat, felt the need to let off steam by talking about his latest obsession. this is something that beefburger people do when they are stressed. as they meandered along the road my boy explained the merits of various types of deadly weapons and bullets. herself finds this sort of talk unsettling. she is off work with what we now know is called vicarious trauma, or precarious trauma as my boy calls it. you get it from dealing with too much nasty stuff.

after about 10 minutes of gun talk herself told my boy he had to change the subject. so he went on to hand grenades. when we got home the estate agent was just leaving. he did indeed have a coat. it seems these particular people were looking for a house to renovate. in the case of our house they are 10 years too late...