Bullies, Bitches and Bastards

Essentially, when you require him to be at his most grown-up, he will let you down worse than any five-year-old denied access to a Wacky Warehouse Christmas free-for-all.

A halogen-downlit office. You, trying to unpack the cargo of verbal nonsense a 19-year-old estate agent is offloading. EBB next to you, head down.

You:…so, essentially, what you’re saying is that the vendors’ purchase has fallen through?…oh, they’ve found another house?…but that’s in probate, isn’t it?…and doesn’t that mean it won’t go through for months, if not years?…but we’ve sold ours and we’re renting on a six-month lease—can we get our solicitor to put pressure on the vendors to go into rented accommodation?…but then, surely, if we do that, we can at least go ahead with our purchase and not be out of pocket?…oh, I don’t know, I’m not sure I know just what you’re advising us to do at this point…(Turning to EBB) What do you think?

EBB (glancing up from his 30GB Apple Video iPod): Eh?

It gets worse.

The hallway, you, halfway down the stairs, panting and clasping the rails. EBB lounging in doorway.

You (calling out): What are you doing?

EBB: Why?

You (exasperated): What are you doing?

EBB: Just on the phone to work. Alright?

You: Did you make the other call?

EBB (irritated): What call?

You: To the midwife?

EBB (into receiver): Hold on a minute, I’m getting interrupted this end.

You: Have. You. Rung. The. Midwife?

EBB: I. Am. On. The. Phone.

You (seizing phone): Ring her now.

EBB (wandering off to living room): You do it. I don’t know the number.

You: Where are you going?

EBB: I’ve got to Sky Plus Clarkson Goes Large.

You look at phone, contemplating its use as possible murder weapon, and pondering the chances of getting off with diminished responsibility due to contractions.

What he says

‘We need a new one.’

‘Give it to me, it’s my turn.’

‘Boo-hoo.’

What you need to do

Become a fully qualified childminder—you’ll need a certificate to hold up in court when he tries to sue you for lack of attention.

Put him in the ballpool at IKEA. He’s no good to you when you’re trying to decide between the Zuftluft sofa bed and the Zerplerp recliner.

Draw up a reward chart. He gets an extra hour on his Scalextric if he tidies his trainers on the shoe rack; an hour less if he forgets to pick up the kids from school—again.

The Moody Bastard

What he does

Has his emotional barometer set permanently on heavy weather. ‘Going into one’ is his raison d’être. Bought Sains-bury’s own-label muesli? Big mood, even though he ate it yesterday. Turned the light switch on too noisily? Big Mood. Breathing in and out too frequently? Big Mood. Someone dies? Big Mood. Someone doesn’t die? Big Mood.

Although being extremely tetchy is more or less his full-time occupation, he manages to squeeze in a couple of extracurricular activities: Sending You to Coventry and Stomping Off.

He will Stomp Off anywhere and for no reason whatsoever. He will do it when you’re enjoying yourself and when you’re not enjoying yourself. Either way, he says it’s because he ‘doesn’t need the hassle’. Even on a pedalo in the middle of the Med, he’d find a way of Stomping Off.

It’s as if the Lord God Almighty had a big stick and was prodding him, and him alone, with it. No one on the planet is having a worse time, or is so deeply misunderstood.

But nothing particularly bad has happened to MB—oh, apart from that time you wittily nicked a chip off his plate. That sulk lasted a week.

If he worked on the production line in a Prozac factory, he’d still manage to create an atmosphere of despondency. But then that’s because MB ‘thinks too much’, has ‘too much depth’ and ‘was born with a Jack Kerouac temperament’. No, he doesn’t. No, he hasn’t. And no, he wasn’t. He’s just a peevish arse whose mission in life is to spoil your fun.

You and MB on sofa. You one end, MB at other, his arms crossed, sighing intermittently.

You: I love The Simpsons, don’t you?

MB: Yeah. (Not smiling) It’s funny.

You: I love Apu.

MB: That’s my favourite character.

You: Hey, snap!

MB: I thought you liked Marge.

You: No. Apu.

MB: Hang on! You definitely said you liked Marge.

You: I do like her but my favourite is Apu.

MB: I don’t believe this. You only like Apu because I said I did.

You: I did not. I’ve always liked Apu.

MB: I liked Apu first. I liked Apu before you were born.