Spending quality time with Mammy and Papabear for various reasons, mainly to use their high speed internet connection (Lilsister’s laptop, stolen from Ex-Himself after we emigrated to Australia is pretty slow due to her pay as you go stick thing internet connection) and also to give Scarydancer some man time to himself in the apartment, as he awaits the imminent arrival of Lilsister from Day 2 in The New Job.
Unfortunately Papabear must have his periods for he is very moody this evening. Not sure what it is as Mammy only came home from her own work after I got here, and he was already stomping around upstairs combing each individual hair in preparation for training his football team. Papabear’s hair preparation rituals is the stuff of legend in our family as he takes longer to prepare and set his extremely short barnett than any of the women in the house, no mean feat when we all colour, blowdry and straighten our hair. He takes THAT LONG. Lilsister has often joked that it must take the time it does as each individual follicle receives the utmost in attention and styling products, what other reason could there possibly be? I think she is right. Last Christmas, as a joke, she bought him a giant (by giant I mean think the length of your arm, and double it) bottle of ”extreme hold” hairspray, in reference to the vast amounts he uses every time he goes out, lest his tiny hairs wave in the Irish wind. It was a joke, but Papabear was genuinely delighted with the gift, stating that with a bottle that size, he would get a good week out of it. The joke and the lead balloon fell to the floor together in a thunderous crash of nothingness. We all looked at each other, and asked Mammy when the turkey would be ready.
So after stomping around upstairs, Papabear took to stomping down the stairs and banging various items in the kitchen, whilst Mammy and I watched the news in the living room. Only when the newsreader took a breath (they need to after the deluge of bad news that they DELIGHT in presenting to us – pricks) and there was a second’s silence, could Papabear be heard saying ”for fuck’s sakes” a lot. As he was eating his hastily prepared dinner I’m not quite sure what the problem was, because when I have my periods or PMT or general womanly mood swings, a good feed usually sorts the issue out. No so with manmoods.
Speaking of periods, Lilsister and I have collated all of our period related paraphernalia into a giant, see-through bag, and have hung it on the back of one of her storage cupboards. I happened to have a few packs of stuff but Lilsister, in pure Mammy-influenced mode, will buy ANYTHING if it’s reduced, free, or two for the price of one, and has amassed a startling collection of wings, longs, shorts, thins, pads, bags, flats, shaped, daily, nightly and a variety of pretty packaging. You got a mood swing, we got the pad for it. There are literally HUNDREDS of them, and every time I go to the cupboard to get a clean towel, a paper bag for recycling, or some shampoo, I get hit in the face with it. This is fine, but I fear for Scarydancer in the same situation, nobody needs to be hit in the face, but to be hit in the face with an array of sanitary towels on a regular basis is surely not what he signed up for as a roomie.
I must go and find something for Papabear, not sure if there is anything that relates to general frostiness, cursing and stompingess, but perhaps something infused with aloe vera or a shower fresh scent would do the trick. All I can do is try.