Yesterday was a rubbish day: a puncture ensured a long and unscheduled walk to work in the rain; getting in late meant I had a larger-than-normal stockpile of press day proofs on my desk; then a meeting made the proof stockpile even bigger; then I had to repair the tyre before heading home late…
I was so arsed off that even the cats, who are affection sluts, wouldn’t come anywhere near me when I got home.
So I have formulated a cunning plan to avoid the travails of the working day… I am going to be a professional trophy husband!
To be fair the face probably needs a bit of work… and I may have to lose my rough edges… and the wardrobe will probably need a major overhaul… but the constant cycling and martial arts mean the body’s looking OK so I reckon I may be in with a fighting chance.
The plus points of this new job are that I get to go to posh parties with my wife and get shown off and spend the rest of the time at home writing or refining my beauty. The minus points are that our household loses my wage and I no longer have any type of career.
But I think it’s worth the sacrifice so I’m going to run it past the Missus tonight…
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