Tell the truth and shame the devil

I remember my grandmother telling me to 'tell the truth and shame the devil' when I was a child. I doubt that she knew that she was quoting Shakespeare or that the origins of that phrase dated back even further. She just knew that it was good advice, that it is better and easier to tell the truth even when you are tempted to lie. I am not sure if Robbie received similar good advice, but from what I have been told about his grandmother I suspect he was. However there have been a few occasions when he thought that he could pull the wool over my eyes - he is a slow learner! He always seems surprised when he gets caught out and he asks how I knew. I don't tell him because I like to keep him on his toes, but it can be quite comical. He had heard me tease my brother because his voice becomes noticeable higher in pitch when he departs from the truth so Robbie makes a conscious effort not to to do the same. What he doesn't seem to have noticed is that his accent becomes more 'West Midlands' when he is caught out telling a fib. In fact the other day when he tried to avoid telling the truth he sounded so much like Lenny Henry that I almost burst out laughing. I hope he has finally worked out that it is easier (and safer) for him to just tell the truth!!

Living Dangerously

The fact that Robbie has survived unharmed for 36 years is one of life's enduring mysteries. Sometimes he infuriates me so much that the urge to harm him is almost irresistible. The trouble is that he has no sense of danger, Robbie will 'boldly go' where angels fear to tread. When he got home from work on Monday he wandered into the kitchen to find out what was for dinner, within seconds he was telling me that I was doing things wrong! My warning stare didn't work and when he attempted to tell me how to do something else I couldn't contain my frustration, I stormed out of the kitchen and told him that if he knew so much he could finish cooking the meal himself. I went back a few minutes later because he can't make the gravy, but he was still trying to tell me that his way was the best way. He was standing there in his PJ's and I was armed with a scalding hot jug of gravy, only an act of supreme self mastery on my part prevented me from tipping the gravy straight down the front of his trousers!

Yesterday I played safe and made a chicken casserole so that by the time Robbie arrived home there would be very to argue about. Emily needed a lift so I planned to drive her to the station and then take Robbie home. I made the dumplings before leaving the house, but thankfully I left them on a plate ready to put in when I arrived home and I turned the oven down slightly. When Robbie got into the car his first sentence was to request that I would take him to Staples. I asked if we could do it another day because our meal was almost ready, but apparently it was an emergency - he needed to buy a new pencil! I took him to Staples and I'm please to report that he now has a pencil with lead in it! Thankfully our meal survived the delay.

I went to bed fairly late, I was tired and it didn't take long for me to fall asleep. Sometime later 'Thunder Foot' came to bed. How hard can it be to slip into bed quietly without waking me up? In Robbie's case it appears to be impossible! He thumped and bumped around, talked to me, prodded me, flapped the covers about let the cold air in and worse of all he put the light on just to annoy me. You will not be surprised to hear that it worked! I was furious. Once again I was wide awake and it would take ages to get back to sleep, but within minutes 'Sleeping Beauty' was 'Z'ing away, oblivious of my simmering anger.

This morning I expected a 'sorry' and may be a bit of affection. Instead I was awoken by a searchlight and an inquisition, he was accusing me of stealing his knickers! I was quite insistent that I hadn't touched them but he wouldn't believe me. I was furious about not being believed, we are not exactly talking about the crown jewels here, I don't think there is a booming market in second hand drawers. To add insult to injury he then blamed Sam for stealing them - how ridiculous. If I find them before he does he'd better watch out because every pair will have a liberal sprinkling of itching powder inside!

Just in case anyone is wondering, Robbie went to work fully clothed, including underwear. He had been looking for a specific pair, for some reason or other he had decided that he had to wear that pair today. He told me last night that he had to go on a site visit today and he needed to have a high visibility jacket and safety boots. Perhaps he thought he needed his lucky pants as well!

Brave or Stupid?

Robbie has been ranting about his socks again. He had a major 'man stress' about them on Saturday, claiming that all his best pairs of socks had been stolen. Yes, stolen!

I wonder who he thinks the sock snaffler might be. Sam has a whole draw full of socks so I doubt he has any inclination to 'borrow' Robbie's socks. The girls cringe at the thought of his socks and there is no way that they would touch them. I have better things to do than steal socks, so that only leaves the dog and the cats - unless the guinea pig is selling them on ebay! I know times are hard but I am not aware of a booming market in second hand socks and I doubt we are being targeted by a burglar with a foot fetish!

Robbie didn't think I was taking the matter seriously enough, so he gave me an ultimatum. Either I take better care of his socks or he will have to wash them himself from now on. Guess what, I chose option two! He will be dealing with his own smelly socks in future, and he can look after his own 'smalls' too, after all if there is a sock snaffler about it is only a matter of time until they progress to 'bigger things'.