13 Sep 2015

Dear Shit Head ; Letter from a disgruntled wife on the red!

 


 Dear Sean SHIT HEAD,

Ok so seen as yet again you’ve proved yourself incapable of having an adult conversation to try and resolve our argument, opting for the pub instead, I thought I’d write you a letter to tell you exactly why I’m in such a “Pissy” humour - as you so eloquently put it.  Oh and also because I’ve just opened bottle numero deux from your ‘secret’ stash of red, I’ll most likely be asleep when you get home.


Firstly Sean the fact that you can’t comprehend why I’m so upset over such a “trivial thing” 
(your words not mine) sum’s you right up. 


20 years Sean, two whole fucking decades – 16 of which we have lived in the same house together and it still seems you know absolutely nothing about me.  I know every single minor mundane detail about you Sean, most of which I could have happily lived an entire life time not knowing.  This might surprise you but I had no burning need to know you’re convinced that you have a more productive shit in the en suite toilet thank you very much.  Or that you’re a fan of the alternate toilet paper/baby wipe chaser technique – nope as hard as it might be for you to believe, I could have blissfully pottered trough life without that little nugget of information.  Oh and even though it’s fucked up in my opinion and doesn’t qualify as proper toast, I am aware and adhere to  your only toast on one side rule.  You hate chocolate flavoured things but love chocolate, hate mint and coconut and get oddly aggressive when given melon as a starter at weddings.  This oh love of my life SHIT HEAD is the bare tip of the iceberg of all the irrelevant nonsensical things I’ve learnt about you over the years.



Do you know what I’ve realised about you Sean?  You never ask about ‘ME’...never!  You never ask me how my day went, if I’m OK, how I’m feeling - NOTHING.  I know my life is not exactly a ballroom of excitement being at home with the kids but it would still be nice to be asked – to be thought about.  Do you know sometimes I fantasise about you popping back home after the school run to surprise me for spontaneous sex.  Co-co pops and dirty cereal bowls being side swiped from the kitchen table, then without even whipping it down first you bend me over and make mad passionate love to me...animalistic style.  But that’s never gonna happen is it Sean?

I can’t even remember the last time we had sex outside of our bed.  Oh hold on - I stand corrected, we had a ride in the en-suite (the one you shit in) last Sunday morning because the kids kept bursting into our room – about as exotic as I’m gonna get.  While we’re on the subject of sex, Don ‘Bleedin’ Juan, your “signature” move as you call it, does absolutely NOTHING for me.  I didn’t want to say before (bruise your ego and all) but fuck it, you don’t seem to care about my feelings so here it goes.  You are not drilling for oil Sean, or unblocking a sink, so what the hell do you think plunging your finger in and out of my vagina is going to achieve? (oh and using two fingers doesn’t help either by the by).  My clitoris is not and never has been situated there.



For future reference I’ve drawn you a little diagram of a vagina and exactly where the clitoris is – I hope this helps.

Anywhooo that’s that and this is this.  I’m not looking for 50 Shades of  Gray Grey Gray, can never spell that word, no I think it deffo Grey.  Anyway I’m not looking for any of that vaginal balls or leather whip shit, just a bit of different Sean, a bit of excitement.  Just take your finger out of your arse my vagina and try something new for a change, that’s all.

So yeah I’ll admit it then, I was ‘Pissy’ with you tonight and until I get a PROPER apology I most likely will still be ‘Pissy’ tomorrow too - alongside having a bastard hangover I reckon.  And seen as I’m feeling extra helpful tonight, I’ll put it down in black and fucking white for you Sean and if you forget again you can look back on this letter……………..

I TAKE ONE SUGAR IN MY POXY TEA.


Lindsey









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