The Picky Bones

This post started out with a title of 'Man Flu' (you can guess whose) but I feel that the Shah has been the focus of too many rants of late - however well deserved - to the point that he is almost deliberately generating irritants in order to be written about (well that's my theory and I'm sticking to it).

Half term is my week for 'doing life' by which I mean seeing my mum for a decent day out rather than just the usual Saturday rush round the supermarket, paying bills, having some time to myself, getting my hair done etc.  Ah yes - getting my hair done.  I have had the same hairdresser for over 20 years now.  We were next door neighbours all those years ago and, while we lived close, she would come to our house to do us all.  Now that we have moved further away, I go to where she works in a tiny salon with just two others.  

This lot are old friends who have worked together on an off for around 30 years.  It's the most wonderful, eccentric place and most of the customers seem to go for the entertainment as much as the haircut. Recently, I found myself sitting beside someone who used to work for Sharon Osbourne and who was full of interesting stories.  There is a salon dog, a miniature daschund called Tatiana - or Tattie to her friends.  Yesterday I was her friend and she demanded to sit on my lap where she dozed happily until it was time for me to move.  

Happy Tattie

It's so relaxing - you can chat, have a coffee, read the latest magazines and generally escape for a couple of hours.  You even get time to abuse engage in learned discourse with your absent daughter who is lying abed at a friend's house, recovering from something called 'Monday Night Guildford' (ie an excuse for a large night out).  

Her response told me that I was not being taken entirely seriously:-

Clearly her afflicted father was not being taken too seriously either. 

My hairdresser and I were both suffering from Man Flu - i.e. our respective husbands were causing us to suffer via their "illnesses". Such a relief to know that someone else is losing patience with the overwhelming stench of burning martyr, the drooping shoulders and the wheezy insistence that "no, I'b fide, really" *snort, sniff, cough, sigh* 

It got to the point where I posted the following on Facebook:-

Advice needed. At what stage of man flu is it morally, ethically and/or socially acceptable to do away with your husband? One more groan or sniff or sigh AND I SWEAR I WILL LOSE IT

Strangely, the only male who responded was one of my cousins who claimed (silly boy) that while the odd moan or sniff or sign might inadvertently slip out, we women have no idea of men's suffering because they hide it so well. The rest of the comments came from women who were unanimous in shouting "off with his head" or similar. Nice to know there is still solidarity!