Even I’m wondering what Phoebe and Oliver are up to…
‘You still haven’t told me what you want for Christmas.’
‘If you wake me up to ask me that, ever again, the answer will be ‘a gun.’
I turned on the bedside lamp to see Oliver’s bloodshot eyes peering at me from over the duvet. It’s half past five in the morning. Doesn’t anyone in this house fucking sleep?
‘No seriously’ he continued. ‘What do you want? It’s our first Christmas together with the baby. It should be a special one.’
The baby?? Actually, I’m so tired even I don’t remember the baby’s name.
‘I want a pony Oliver; in fact, I want a pony called SHUT UP IT’S STILL FUCKING NOVEMBER.’ I replied, my harsh whisper burning the back of my throat. ‘And while we’re on the subject of November, are you losing the porn star tash tomorrow? You look like a pervert. That’s not a compliment.’
He rolled over and plumped up his pillow. ‘It was for charity, grumpy arse.’
‘But no one sponsored you. You just wanted to be Tom Selleck.’
‘I think you’ll find that every man born before 1980 wants to be Tom Selleck. Anyway, why are you in such a bad mood? I thought you would have a list by now. You like lists… ’
I firmly pulled the covers back over to my side and sat up. ‘Because I’m frustrated! I’m frumpy! Look at the state of my hair. Actually, look at the state of YOUR hair. My entire world is made of baby! You want a list, Oliver? FINE. Here goes –
- I want a bra that exposes my nipples for reasons other than breastfeeding.
- I want to be able to sneeze without wetting myself.
- I do actually want a pony.
- Oh and I need a new vibrator because I’m pretty fucking sure I lost the other one in MY MASSIVE FUCKING VAGINA.
He did his best not to laugh, probably because he knew that I would end him if he did. Finally he yawns – ‘A pony it is then’ before going back to sleep.
What a prick.