The shit hitting the fan (or was that the ball hitting the screen?).

9 07 2007

I’m soooo glad I’m not 17 years old anymore….Let me re-wind here and fill you in on the background. About 3 weeks ago, our “old ” TV packed up. The very day before the Boks were playing England in the 1st test of the Tri-Nations. So Hubbee went off and spent a small fortune on a new, flashy, huger than anyone REALLY need, flat screen TV. It was hooked up and ready to go minutes before the match started. All good, so far? Three weeks pass, everyone enjoying the new addition when youngest sprog returns from holiday, starts up an energetic game of fetch with the dog (yes, throwing the ball in the house – “DIDN’T I TELL YOU NOT TO DO THAT???”) AND THWACK…new flashy flat screen TV is no more.

My heart just aches for young lad but shit happens, I guess. I remember as clearly as if were yesterday, me standing in front of my dad, eyes downcast, wishing he’d have his say and get done with it…but no, he would rant and rave for a hour – this was quite a regular occurance with me. Hubbee is soooo not impressed (understatement of the decade) saying that he’d better get a job ‘cos it’s gonna take a lot of table-waiting to pay off the damages. I just keep my head down, flying under the radar – getting on with other things….tum-tee-tum…another day in the life of “These are the days of our mornings”.

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