Living with a Fruitcake
(A man's missives on the maladies of his missus)
My wife, Loz, has a bloody weird Superpower.
She’s always been a bit “quirky” if not, on occasion, downright batshit crazy, but it’s a part of her childlike and inherent charm. It’s what makes her, well, her.
She thinks outside the box, in fact, her train of thought tends to follow a path best described as “squiggly”. Subject dependent she can either be hyper focussed analysing details hitherto unthought of by mortal man or completely away with the fairies in Loz Land picking wild flowers and cuddling trees.
She also has a unique ability at inserting incredibly completely bloody random subject matter into everyday conversations. Words that cause the other members of said conversation to stop their own narrative to try and figure out how the bloody hell she linked something like “Mein Kampf” into a chat about wallpaper.
Then there’s the talking in itself, I swear her body bypasses its inherent need to breathe. Loz talking is like being assailed with heavy calibre machine gun fire fed with a never ending belt of explosive ammunition. You have no choice but to just pin your ears back, stay still and listen.
She’s also really impulsive, either by buying something completely random and downright useless (but pretty) or by often stripping down to her undies and either skinny dipping or chunky dunking (current size dependent) at any given moment in the sea for a swim. (Other impulsive activities such as sandcastle building and jumping in puddles are also available).
She also appears to have a fairly hefty dose of ants in her pants (not crabs) and has difficulty remaining still without her train of thought leading her body off to Bonkersville to find out random facts like if penguins have knees. Watching a movie together is impossible. The term “Netflix and Chill” is a completely unknown quantity in our house.
And she loses things. All. The. Bloody. Time.
After a fairly expensive assessment by some clever bastard with a ridiculous amount of letters after their name it turned out that Loz has ADHD and, strangely, no one was surprised.
But, regardless, this was all cool. At least, that was, up until Loz’s biological clock came along and supercharged her superpower with the bloody menopause, like she wasn’t weird enough already?
So Madam, let’s heighten all those emotions a couple of hundred thousandfold shall we? Upgrade your randomness to our Super Duper Ultra Platinum package? How about a heftier dose of forgetfulness too? And, whilst we’re at it, let’s turn up your body temperature a few dozen degrees as well? No, honestly, all that extra sweating just gives you a healthy glow, it doesn’t make you look weird or smell bad in the slightest!
But also, shall we consider your focus on things? Your attention to detail? Let’s heighten that so that whatever you’re considering becomes the most vitally important thing to you in the known universe? With that option we take away all reason when it comes to you understanding why other people don’t feel the same way about trying to choose between salted and unsalted butter, is that ok?
Or we could just take away your focus entirely? So, say, whilst in conversation about getting the car fixed your input is wondering out aloud if clothes in China just say, “Made down the road?”
And to seal the deal let’s add some HRT medication to the heady concoction of pharmaceutical supplements you’re already ingesting? What? Of course we won’t get the right dose or type right first go! Where’s the fun in that?
P.S - This rhetoric was written under the influence of bravery caffeine and the absence of my Good Lady Wife.
P.P.S - I am SO GLAD I was born a fella.
