First few entries of a novella I'm hoping to self publish soon. About a man battling his waistline, his lack of a sex life, and an irresistible urge for chocolate cake. Just wondered if anyone had any views etc? Especially as to whether it's funny or not?
Monday 24th March.
I'm beginning to suspect the romance has gone out of my marriage. After I'd taken a shower this morning, I was standing naked in the bedroom pulling on a clean pair of underpants, when Helen, who I thought was asleep, said: "Why don't you put on a pair of the dark coloured ones?"
When I asked, what difference it made what colour underpants I wore? She said, "No difference really. It's just the darker colours are harder to stain." Then she turned over and went back to sleep.
I found this rather concerning. When Helen and I got married nineteen years ago she didn't care what colour my underpants were! Just as long as they were easy to pull off in the back of a Ford Escort.
Another major concern is, we haven't had any form of sexual contact since Father's day, and she has stopped trimming her pubic hair. This was something I noticed a few days ago when I walked in on her having a bath, and for a fraction of a second, as my eyes adjusted to the steam, I thought she was shampooing a cat.
Tuesday 25th March
Today is my 41st birthday, and the only presents I received were three pairs of Bart Simpson socks and an exercise bike. I didn't even get a cake.
The socks were a gift from my daughter, Sophie. Who, at only twelve, usually spends what little money she has on credit for her mobile phone!
After I'd opened my daughter's socks, Helen said to Sophie, "What happened to the extra £20 I gave you yesterday so you could buy your father a decent present?"
Sophie said, "Well I was on my way to the shops when I thought there was somebody following me. So I thought I'd better top up my phone in case I needed to ring the police."
Helen rolled her eyes.
"Well you wouldn't want me to get molested would you mum?"
Me, being the practical member of the family, said, "Well actually, you don't need to have credit on your mobile to ring the emergency services. They just put you through automatically."
"Oh well, fine," said Sophie, sarcastically. "Next time I'm about to get raped by a paedophile, I won't bother trying to make sure I'm safe. I'll just knock myself unconscious and wait for him in an alley. Would that make you happy, dad?"
Then she grabbed her schoolbag and stormed out of the house; slamming the front door so hard behind her that all four of my birthday cards collapsed on the mantelpiece. My daughter always did know how to make a drama out of a crisis.
"No present from Andrew?" I asked.
"Afraid not," Said Helen, "but at least he gave you the card. That's better than nothing I suppose!"
Andrew hadn't given me a card; he'd left it on the kitchen table next to his dirty washing and a note asking if he could borrow my laptop. Something Helen chose to see as a positive sign.
Ever since Andrew turned seventeen, and decided to declare independence by running an extension cable from the house and moving into the garden shed so he could be alone with his music, the only times we ever saw him were when he needed feeding, or when he had any laundry to do.
"Don't worry," said Helen, on the day him and his guitar moved out. "I'm sure he'll come back to us one day."
The way Helen talked about Andrew you'd think he was in Iraq! Not filling his days watching hardcore pornography on my laptop whilst dreaming about being discovered on The X Factor. I decided that I would make more of an effort to talk with Andrew and to try to understand him better. If for no other reason than to explain to him the benefits of deleting the computer history before his sister uses it to do her homework.
"And that just leaves me, said Helen, who then disappeared through the door and returned moments later, dragging a large heavy box behind her, "Happy birthday Eric."
I looked at the picture on the side of the box and blinked several times in case I was imagining it. Unfortunately I wasn't. "You've bought me an exercise bike?" I asked.
"Not just an exercise bike," She said. "This is a Pro body magnetic exercise bike with built in pulse monitor and calorie counter! It even measures the distance you've travelled while you're exercising."
I said, "The only distance I'll be travelling with that thing is back to the shop you bought it from. What on earth possessed you woman?"
"Well I just thought - now you're approaching fifty - doing something like this might be good for you. Help you get back into shape."
I said, "What do you mean approaching fifty? I'm only forty one! I've not long finished with the thirties!"
"Oh you know what I mean!"
"Yes! What you mean is you think I'm getting fat!"
Helen shook her head just a little too enthusiastically, and said, "No no - of course not. I don't mean that at all," Then she reached over and gave my stomach a little rub. "Although even you have to admit Eric, you have become quite a bit cuddlier over the last few years."
Helen was trying to avoid actually saying the word but there was no doubt in my mind she really did think I was getting fat. I've noticed over the last few months that my meals are getting smaller, and yesterday, when after a ten hour shift in the taxi I complained that my back and shoulders were aching she offered to lend me her sports bra.
And anyway it isn't just for you," she said. "It's for both of us. It's not like I couldn't stand to lose a few pounds too."
Where exactly Helen intended to lose a few pounds from I had no idea? Aside from a few crow's feet and a tiny little muffin top, she's still the same petite brunette I married all those years ago. Something which made it even more annoying we'd stopped sleeping together. At least if I'd stopped fancying her it wouldn't be so bloody frustrating!
