9 February 2017, 6 pm
My husband has been offered a job. We take the children out for tea, to celebrate but also to explain to them how things are going to work under our new domestic arrangements. Chief among the new arrangements will be that the new person in charge of home and family – ie me – has zero tolerance for things of this nature, no aptitude at all on the nurturing front and a very low boredom threshold. Thus, going forward, all team members will be expected to take ownership of their own projects, for example the Personal Laundry Project and the Bedroom Floor Rationalisation Programme. The Nutrition Facilitation Department will also be closed until further notice. PE kits will no longer be self-assembling. The children look sceptical. And also a little puzzled by the references to dusters and toilet ducks and such like. Never mind, say my husband and I as we sit back with our celebratory alcoholic drinks. It will be Team Work. It will be Fun. Can you afford a decent car now? asks the twelve-year-old. He means a Tesla®. We say no, we cannot afford a Tesla®. I can tell my son is about to ask why I do not go back to work as well then, since I am clearly going to be no use as a Welcome Home deputation. But something in my face, viewed through a glass of gin and tonic, tells him this is not the right moment to ask. We agree that for the next few years, until my husband has got bored of going out to work every day, we will get an online shopping app and survive on microwavable ready meals.
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