Sunday afternoon. Half term holiday sadly coming to an end, me sitting on the bed relaxing and watching a bit of telly. The husband, for his birthday, was given a £25 voucher from Amazon from his best friend who lives in Europe decided he would hang up his boxing gear he purchased with it. I said he should put it up in the shed. He argued the single bedroom upstairs. I said no, visualising the damage he could do to the single bedroom setting it up / using it vigorously and insisted the shed. Frankly because if the shed falls apart because of his damage, I couldn’t care less because it’s not the single bedroom!
What does he do? I can feel the strong vibrations of drilling while lying on the bed, not quite sure where it’s coming from. PLOP. Bits of the wall above me has just landed on my hair (which I had got highlighted the day before and all) and on the bed… *rage*
I march into the single bedroom, “what on earth are you doing!!!” he chirps that he’s setting up the boxing gear there. “Well done, cos you’ve f**king drilled through the wall AGAIN!” Again? Yes, he did the same thing downstairs, and there’s a nice hole sitting between two pictures on the living room wall. Sigh. Cue me hoovering up the mess in the bedroom and berating him for half an hour. I decide I will not talk to him until he polyfillas both holes up. Cue him sheepishly doing the polyfilling with a wicked grin on his face. I just know he can’t wait to tell the story about drilling through the wall above his wife’s head to his mates down the pub….
