The Rage

We have been promised a heat wave this week and so far, so good.
The Sleepy Mansions garden thermometer hit 37°C today.
This meant that Housemate Pat’s line of washing was dry at 11.00am but did she bring it in?
Did she fuck.
By four I’d had enough of it shading my plants and shouted at her window,
“How much fucking drier are you waiting for this shit to get?”
When she came to get it, I used the opportunity to air another gripe.
“I’ve wiped up the sticky shit you dropped all over the floor in front of the washer.”
She thanked me. Fucking thanked me!
“So you knew it was there then?”
“Oh yes” She said, and pissed off indoors.
It took so much self control not to run and smash her head in with the spade, I made myself feel physically sick.
I haven’t felt quite that violent in a long time, or so I thought.

The ante was upped, considerably.

As the good weather has made the Vine grow apeshit, I decided to make stuffed vine leaves.
I wanted to give them a good wash as I am unsure of the Kashrut status of Spider, Aphid and Lacewing.
Ironically, this is when I discovered the slime ridden Pork bones blocking the sink.
In a split second I WAS my mother.
Rage and spite made flesh.
A primal scream that was part growl just began to well up in me and it couldn’t be contained.
Letting it out, I started beating and kicking the cupboard doors all the way around the kitchen.
(When ATM used to do this my sister and I called it ‘Drumming’ or ‘Mother’s gone a bit Keith Moon’!)
I did the only thing I could do, which WASN’T beating her until I was too weak to continue with something Le Creuset have made; I wrapped them in kitchen roll and left them outside her room.
She knows how I feel about pig products.

Anyway, here are the Dolmades!