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Saturday, 12 January 2013


The first time I noticed it was the other Saturday morning. When I finally got out of bed, I stripped the sheets to make ready for fresh ones.

I took said sheets downstairs to the laundry. Looking out the laundry door, I saw a few ugly weeds sprouting rudely below the shrubs down the northern side of our house. I plonked the sheets on the floor and went out to pull the wretches.

While outside, I noticed the Saturday papers on the lawn. It always delights me that someone has a good heart and a robust spirit to rise at 2am, wrap newspapers in plastic and drive around the suburbs chucking them out a car window.

I’ll get back to the laundry load, I think, just after I get the papers off the lawn and read the front page.

Walking back from the lawn, I see that no one bothered to collect yesterday’s mail. I open the letterbox and see the Ikea 2013 catalogue. I walk over to the outdoor setting and sit down to make plans for the Swedish-inspired minimalist lifestyle I aspire to.

As I open the catalogue, another letter falls out. It’s from the gas company. I open it up, and notice that it is marked ‘overdue’. Oh shit.

I get up from the outdoor table and head inside to the computer to log onto my internet banking to pay the gas bill. But when the internet starts up, it takes me straight to the news site, and I start reading how three to four drinks a day can ruin your eyesight.

I straight away googled local optometrists in an attempt to make a booking for Monday to have my eyes checked.

I wanted to write their number down and went looking for a pen, and noticed that there were two wine glasses on a book shelf in the hallway. How on earth did they end up on the book shelf, and not in the dishwasher?

I tried to remember what happened last night, when I’d had three or four drinks, and then it struck me. I had told my husband I’d take the glasses to the kitchen en route to the loo but had realised my bladder was doing a herculean effort to not burst its dam. I dumped the glasses on the nearest flat surface and went to pee.

Being a Virgo, I knew that they obviously could not remain there and scooped them up and raced to the dishwasher. Which was clean, but full. So I started to unpack it.

Holding my favourite tea cup in my hand, I realised I hadn’t made a cup of tea yet, so filled the kettle with fresh water and turned it on.

While waiting for it to boil, I looked out over the patio and noticed that the herbs needed a water. I grabbed the watering can and began soaking the plants, admiring the blooming parsley and thyme in their matching tubs.

The fragrant smell of gardenias was in the air. I have a few robust bushes and they were in full bloom. What a great idea, I suddenly thought, to cut a few and put them in shallow dishes around the house so the wonderful aroma that is characteristically gardenia would fill my home.

Back inside, I started looking for the secateurs when the cat dodges around under my feet. Dear little Kitty Kat, I think, patting her bushy tail, she wants her breakfast. I get her food from the fridge, pick up her bowl, and notice it’s still a bit dirty from her dinner the night before.

I head to the sink to give it a quick rinse when I notice steam rising out of the kettle and my longing for a cup of tea overtakes my desire to feed the cat.

I’m in the pantry getting out a tea bag when I notice the honey jar is sitting in a sticky puddle. Silently I blame The Man Of The House and wet the dishcloth to clean up the mess before the ants do. Oh well, while I’m here, I may as well do a bit of tidying and rearranging of food items.

It is then that I discover a box of tea light candles that had been missing in action. Oh goodie! I can replenish the candles I keep on the dining room table. I walk to the dining room and find the television remote control sitting forlornly on its walnut table top.

Not even bothering to wonder how it got there, I pick it up and take it to the living room to return it to its rightful place. Mmm, may as well see what’s on, don’t you think?

Foxtel is playing Bridget Jones’s Diary. Even though I own the DVD for both BJD one and two, even though I’ve seen them numerous times, even though I own the books, I sit down to watch.

Halfway through I remember my girlfriend Michelle went out with her new bloke last night and give her a call to see how it went. We chat for a while and decide to meet for a quick lunch to dissect details and analyse the text message he sent her this morning (it read: “Hi baby, had a great time last night, looking forward to seeing you again x”).

Did he call her baby because he couldn’t remember her name? Or was he simply being affectionate? Did he only want to see her again because she didn’t sleep with him or is he really into her? Is a single kiss enough or should he have put two or three?

Home from lunch, I think a nice lie down for an hour is on the cards.

I walk into my bedroom and stare blankly at a bare mattress.

Where the hell are my sheets???

And then it all comes back to me: the sheets are sitting in a messy pile on the laundry floor. I have a gas bill that is unpaid. My cat is hungry. The gardenias are dropping off the bush. The Ikea catalogue is still outside on the table. The dishwasher needs to be unpacked.

And I still haven’t had a cup of tea.

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