The Widower has reared his head again.
I’ve managed to avoid a lot of his calls by simply ignoring the phone – I have caller display. If you haven’t got it, get it. Veeeerrry useful.
(I’d like to issue a warning here. This post is going to involve an abundant use of the ‘f’ word. In previous posts where I’ve let off a bit of steam, I’ve restrained myself, but I’m not going to today. Yes, I know it's not big and it's not clever, but I don't care.
If you are of a sensitive nature, click away now. Go and Google raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens or something.)
The Widower turned up unannounced the other afternoon.
Fucker.
He was in the area and wanted to check up on me (hot weather = less clothing = increased perving opportunities methinks).
Fucker.
Apparently, he promised Significant Other he’d ‘keep an eye on me’.
Lying fucker.
He wanted a progress report.
Oh fuck off.
“Any inroads made in the garage?”
Yes, I have been in the garage, you fucking irritating bastard.
“I see you still have the vans. Any movement on those?”
There will be - they're going to get shoved right up your fucking arse.
“What about the sheds?”
If there’s room, the contents of the sheds can go up there too.
“It’s important not to shut yourself away”.
How many times do I have to say it? I haven’t fucking shut myself away, you fucking moron.
“Do you get out much?”
Yes I do, and that would come under ‘I haven’t shut myself away’ you fucking dozy pillock.
“New Lady stays with friends for a few days occasionally. When she’s away, I’ll give you a ring and I’ll treat you to lunch.”
I don’t fucking think so.
“Are you keeping yourself occupied?”
Yes, I occupy myself by thinking of how many ways there are to get you to fuck right off.
“And what about company? You must get lonely.”
What the fuck has it got to do with you? Fuck off and mind your own business.
“You must miss… hugs.”
Billy Connolly will express my sentiments at this point:
And off he will fuck indeed.
Had a thought (a widow thinks) get Billy Connolly on answer phone or on door bell just for the times Widower calls. May be then he will get the idea annoying F..ker :)
ReplyDeleteI know you're English, but really there's no need to be that polite.
ReplyDeleteI know how you feel ... about irritating fuckers, I mean!!!
ReplyDeleteWhen I was in my 20s, my other half died. What really struck me at the time was how people acted around me. The big point used to be that we were young. They kept telling me how young she was, and how young I was, as if somehow that little nugget of information had passed me by.
One that actually made me laugh was when one of her friends said, "I can't believe it. I only spoke to her last week." As if that was going to make a difference.
I find now that when people die, my usual response is, "There's no point in me saying anything, so I won't!" Some find that cold, but most appreciate it.
As for the widower, have you thought about telling him you have been getting out, mostly to the clinic, and your vaginal infection will soon have dried up, so he might like to come acalling when the cankers are gone. I think that might cool his ardour a touch!
Thistle, I like the way you think.
ReplyDeleteIs, up until a few years ago I lived in East London. I may unleash my inner Peggy Mitchell - "gerroutta my 'ouse yer fuckin' bleeder. Go on, aht!". Or is that also too polite?
IG, you are a genius! To reinforce it, I'm going to get pamphlets and leave them strategically placed.
One of the best things someone said to me was, "It's a bastard, ain't it?" I appreciated that comment much more than most of the others.