Telecommuting is where it’s at

February 18, 2017

This article was written for Annabel & Grace, which is now part of Rest Less.

There is a new unfortunate development in my life, which I am working on resolving. The hubby’s Work/Life Balance is out of whack. Telecommuting is where it’s at… you work from your flat!

This is sort of ‘acceptable’ although not entirely my idea of ‘what dreams are made of’. The green baize door keeps swinging open and out he comes again. He escapes from his office quite a lot to be honest. He’s more out than in. He much prefers to spread everything out over our large coffee table, then plays musical chairs to survey his papers from every conceivable position. With a bank of phones at his disposal, he’s open for business to deal all day long. There isn’t a start/stop button. No on/off switch. No nine to five.

It hadn’t bothered me at all, as I have loved bumping into him throughout my day. However, recently, it has become apparent he thinks I’m in his space! How did that happen? Not only that but I’m not allowed to speak, unless spoken to!

I have a reputation for launching into some fascinating monologue about something interesting to me, without the slightest need to have an audience. I like to say anything I want, whenever the mood takes me.  I think it’s written into our constitution. Or is that just America?

I jokingly said that maybe he’d like a few paddle boards to wave at me. One saying, “Shhhh, I’m thinking!” Another, “Hello, I’m open to being a husband again” or “Woman … can’t you see I’m busy?” In response I could have my own, saying a rude word followed by “….OFF”. He actually thought it was a great idea, not getting the irony.

TelecommutingYesterday, I received a phone call from my youngest unmarried who was at home. “Mummy, I’ve just cut my finger very badly, I think it’ll need stitches. Do you know where any bandages are?” I could hear his father talking on the phone in the background. First aid kit location was relayed whilst enquiring why his father wasn’t helping him. Apparently his father wasn’t taking the blindest bit of notice of severed finger drama.
Incidentally darling ….. what’s happening to all the blood that must be spouting forth?” He’d stuck his finger in his mouth to not make a mess. Brilliant thinking!

It’s making me feel a bit sick, actually. I might need to lie down. Daddy can you help me? Please daddy?

After what could only be called a furious tirade from his wife (once the phone was passed over) the hubby responded with, “How was I to know? I thought he was meditating ….. He’s often lying on the ground with his eyes closed!” It’s come to a very ‘rum do’ when one doesn’t even notice your child fall to the floor, clutching his severely shortened digit! And I’m bored to death of being told to be quiet before opening my mouth.  Priorities need addressing pronto. And I know who has those!

If you’d like to read more of Miranda’s stories, click here for her website What’s The Natter.


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