Half-Arsed Jobs Do...

The only half-arsed job I've ever done is when I didn't burn the house completely down. The new bits are mine- right up until the Rosella's nest in the western wall. It's all your's from there on.

Now I'm just angry looking at all my half-arsed jobs I've done around here.

All that gardening and cleaning out the garage before Christmas means nothing. I'm the one who scrubbed the laundry walls and plucked every fucking weed from the driveway.

So waht if I nap when I'm hungover? That's what you do isn't it?

Come to think of it- I'm the one who chopped those trees back and painted the verandah floors Forest Green. I won the thousand dollars that paid for that nice new patio furniture on the radio in a trivia contest; you wouldn't have known what the main ingredient in Coq Au Vin is. I'm the one who sweeps the footpaths and mops the verandahs and wipes the pissy spots you leave around the toilet bowl- and it's only recently that I've stopped washing your pissy sheets after you forget to go to the toilet again after a big night at the pub.

I'm the one who sacrificed the Centrelink Payments all year so that we'd be overpaid at the end of the financial year- and if you'd only bothered to do your tax return earlier we would have bought the new lounge and paid of the credit card a whole lot sooner.

I appreciate you doing the lawns- though I know it would still be my job if I could only start the fucking thing. I do your washing, grocery shopping and banking and always have to order the pizza because you're too scared to do it. I handle the bills and the money- even after you've stuffed it down the poker machines again. As we only have one car I'd probably need to drive you to work most mornings anyway- or I wouldn't be able to take our Son to pre-school or do the shopping, but I'd let you take it the days I didn't need it if only you had a licence and hadn't crashed into someone when you were drunk and unlicenced; though I'd honestly prefer it if you could make your own way and back to the pub each afternoon.

I appreciate you working and bringing home the money that I spend- mostly on other things aside from myself- though you do keep me supplied with tampons, even if you don't even know it. Even your co-workers- who you've never introduced me to- know how good you've got it and all I do for you. The truth is that no one Except for you and I will ever know the true extent of what I do. And the sad thing is that you won't even appreciate it until it's gone.

No.

The saddest thing is I do all of this without complaint. I do all this because I do what's needed to be done. I do all this because I fucking love you. And I fucking well shouldn't because you don't deserve me- not when you speak to me the way that you do and when you try to control my every move. Why can't I go out dancing until three am?

I'm an adult and you're not even my Dad- who incidentally also used to have trouble keeping me out of trouble and that's how I ended up with you. And it's very hard to be with a man who has told you to your face that he not only finds you unattractive but that you are an unfit mother for his children. It hurts to see someone roll their eyes when you speak. It hurts to know for a fact he thinks I'm fucked in the head; he's told me to my face at least a thousand times- many of which are still fresh in my mind.

Do I consider myself to be a bad wife?

No.; I fuck enthusiastically and give great head. I make dinners worthy of resturant dinners. I never roll away just because I've had an orgasm first and Won at sex.

Besides- I'm only thirty two and not even in my sexual prime yet. In fact I'm only getting better.

The more I think about it the more I think I should have let the fire take the whole fucking lot.

Anyway; what about Your half-arsed jobs Hubby?

I'd list them but I'd run out of space.