This isn’t one of my epically long blogs. I’ve been man-flued up this week (what can I say... I’m a fragile creature when snot is involved).
So instead of passing on my wondrous wisdom, I thought I’d share the kind of stuff my husband (the fourth child in our three child household) does when I'm shivering, crying and generally dying in bed. Yes, I'm a hypochondriac. And I'm not ashamed to admit it.
He brings a Dymo home and gets to work labelling things...
Cute, huh? He's such a goof... with a sweet sense of humour. Haha... no. If there's a line to cross, he will eventually cross it.
I think the line has been stepped over here. This was stuck to the toilet lid... and the children got involved too. They added 'BUM HOLE'.
This is the our fridge... it's a giant telephone box. And this is how one man made something fun and funky into something murky and seedy (at least the kids couldn't see this label, it was too small and too high).
I think he went in a different direction with this and crossed a different line. This was stuck to the mirror in our living room... I do not look in the mirror all the time! I'm quite insulted.
And finally, the line is mere speck on the horizon with this label. This candle, above our fireplace, was given to me by his sister (for those who don't know me, Rita isn't my real name... but that's another story). Beautiful. Who said romance was dead, eh? Luckily the kids didn't see this one... although they did see the label he stuck on my back that said 'twat'. Thank you, husband. I will seek my revenge. One day. When you lest expect it...