ME: You just won't effing believe what I went through today...
HIM : So...how was your day? How did the "Moving House for Dorothy" go?
Uh oh -I know that look.
(Moves valuable items away from my reach)
ME : I have just one thing to say...effing blokes !
HIM : OK.....(takes a deep breath) Want a wine?
ME : Want? -more like need.
HIM : What blokes? Blokes in general or just today's blokes?
ME: No not all blokes, not nice ones like you, just the Tosser-Type blokes who are married to absolute effing saints like Dorothy. God what she has had to put up with all these years!
HIM : (Places wine glass carefully into her hand wrapping her fingers around it to stop her gesticulating her anger)
ME: Do you know what....? No I'll start from the top. So I arrive nice and early to help clean and Jill and I stand there looking at the four.....FOUR.....sheds still full of
his mechanical stuff. Four effing sheds full....nothing shifted....and get this, only Jill, Dot and I to do it.
HIM : What....no blokes to help? I mean men? Why are you laughing?
ME: There are "Blokes" and then there are "Effing Blokes". Stan is in the latter category
and he IS an "Effing Bloke".
HIM : You called him a "Tosser Bloke" before.
ME : That is a general term for ALL Blokes Who Think They Know Effing More Than Anyone
Else -That is your average "Tosser Type".
HIM : So....who shifted all the heavy furniture? (Re-filling her wine glass beginning to
HER: Three blokes with a huge truck.
HIM: But they weren't "Tosser-Types"?...
HER : Nah...they were good blokes.
HIM : I think I understand....just might need reassurance here. Am I a good bloke?
HER: You are....completely. I need more wine.....bless you.
HIM: So how did you manage with the various "bloke" types? and all that gear?
HER: Well, Jill and I turned into "Blokettes". AFTER I cleaned the bathroom and HIS
HIM : Wait...so they don't sleep together?
HER: (puts wine glass down and looks directly at HIM) Living with Stan is enough...you can't expect her to sleep with him too do you? No I cleaned his bedroom....he
hadn't even packed his clothes. He was told to last night but apparently he refused and had a few beers instead.
HIM: (sharp intake of breath) Oooh I see.
HER: THEN....and this story is not over....when got to the new place, the "effer" ....
HIM: (laughing uproariously) so he's an "effer" now ? Has he graduated?
HER: (Puts wine glass to one side which makes HIM a bit nervous) You know he "supervised" or "farted around" which ever version you want...he did it. All
talk and no work....or finding things to fix that absolutely did NOT need fixing.
HIM: What about his gear in the horse-truck? (keeping the story back on track)
HER: Well....and you won't believe this....he managed to "supervise" the furniture truck
guys -they are now "guys" OK? ...
HIM: "Good Guys" right?
HER: Keep up....yes.....he "supervised" the furniture truck so that was wedged in front of the house so that the horse-truck was blocked in the drive-way and we had to wait...effing wait...until the furniture truck was unloaded before we could unload the horse truck.
That's when Jill and I knew it was going to be a VERY LONG DAY.
HIM: So let me get this straight.....you both gave up your time, the furniture truck guys
were being paid by the hour and you couldn't get past the truck to unload and go?
HIM: See....he's only thinking of the cost of the Furniture Removal guys .....are they blokes or guys?.....and he won't be thinking about how you and Jill have other things
to do. That's how a man's brain works.
HER: (looking at HIM carefully)
HER: But it get's worse......so effing worse you have no idea! (Big breath)
HER: Then.....the Furniture Guys go. The horse truck moves round to the out-buildings
and Jill, myself and Dot start to unload compressors, tool kits, lathes, gear off the truck. Stan bleats about his hernia...and I have to clench my jaw NOT to say a word...not an effing word. The three of us heaved, nudged, balanced and scrambled
up and down the horse truck ramp with an entire life-time's collection of "Blokes'"effing useless kit.
HIM: Why didn't he help?
HER: Oh he supervised.....and bleated. The way "Tosser Types" bleat on about their medical inconveniences (enunciating every syllable)....and then -Oh you just
couldn't make this up...(settling in for the final satisfying blast) The previous owner
arrived to talk about the stock in the paddocks. He also blocked the driveway...
it's a skill that "Tosser Types" are born with I think.
HIM: How could you tell just from him arriving that he was a "Tosser Type"?
HER: Well, there was the way he parked his ute so that no-one could exit easily...and
then there was the way he calmly sat down in the out-buildings with Stan and had
a couple of beers with him. I caught Jill's eye as the beer was opened and we both
turned away and continued....CONTINUED lugging mowers, chainsaws, girders, wood, chains into the shed all around the two Blokes. I slammed things down
and we all eye-rolled sighed together out of sight in the horse truck acknowledging the obscene fact that two Blokes sat down to have a beer while three women worked at unloading one Bloke's gear. Neither. Offered. To. Help....AT. ALL.
Took us three women two hours to clear that horse-truck out. And they watched the whole time.
HIM: You would have been fuming.
HER: Oh I was...and I carried on fuming in the horse-truck for the one and half hour drive
home with Jill. Poor Jill.
HIM: Was it worth it?
HER: Oh it was worth seeing Dot happy in the new place. Yes. Was it worth being angry about? I don't know. It kept me going all day though....that anger.
HIM: More wine?