I just wrote on Twitter some gibberish about DNA testing kits and how they are probably bollocks, and how my results would come back and tell me I’m equal parts British, Bangladeshi and Carrot. On a serious note tough, this reason for my intrigue is that I would like it to come back and say I’m part viking. Other than being awesome I could justify having a massive beard to my wife. This came to me, as many things do, in the bath. The great questions of life are often pondering in the bath but for me today, it was a solution that come to me. Spit in a tube, pay a small fortune and hope. Fool proof.
I’ve had a massive beard before, and I enjoyed it. It was so big that when holidaying in Morocco I was asked several times if I was Muslim. The wife likes me with stubble, so this pandemic suits her prefered vision of me, as I have to shave to keep my mask a good fit. Otherwise I‘d get Covid and develop some long term respiratory complication, which will undoubtably fall into the COPD category given time. But yeah, I really feel like growing a massive beard and my hair long, just on the top, shaven sides. I’ll probably look like a right twat, but that’s half the joy of being alive right? Worrying what other people think when in reality, they don’t give a toss and have forgotten you after 30 seconds because they’ve their own shit to deal with.
I’m out the bath now though, you’ll be happy to read. I was not writing this in the bath tub, hairy knackers bobbing on the arse powered wave machine that is ever so active once you submerse yourself in the bath. No, this comes to you from the bedroom, semi snuggled in the sheets. It’s not as peaceful as the bath tub, mainly because the wife is watching The Handmaids Tale in the telly below me. I can only assume it’s something to do with weird bondage, or torture, because all I can hear is screaming inbetween what sounds like bible verses. I swear she must be deaf, the racket coming from that telly. There’ll be spy satellites going over the UK now picking this up word for word, wondering what the fuck is going on down here.
My wife is 38 weeks pregnant with our 1st. She’s allowed to do what she wants. This has mainly consisted of her bossing me about. Between my actual job she has me building this, painting that, collecting those. I believe it’s called nesting. I’m not complaining though, because I’m too scared to.
On a happy note though, I’m taking a full month off work when the baby comes. Be awesome to just be around. However, this means that I’ll no doubt become one of this parents who can’t express themselves without talking about their child. So in this case, I’m probably going to just write about the child. I’ll be a treat for you all.
Anyhoo, sleep is calling. I enjoyed the finger rambling.
Sweet dreams and Big Love