Today we took the little lady to a Christmas Disco. Children's discos are a living hell at the best of times so I didn't have high hopes for this one being any different.
As soon as I opened the door to the place, Mariah Carey's, All I Want For Christmas blasted me in the face. Oh lordy, it was going to be as bad as I feared.
A murder of four year olds streamed past me screaming ultrasonically. I sighed. The good lady nudged at me to behave and took the little lady to the dance floor.
It was a large spacious hall with loads of seats set back from the dance bit so I made myself comfortable with a sleeping boom and pulled out my phone for some steeming.
Alright mate?
A guy I had met a few times at these kind of events sat down heavily beside me. I remembered his name, Mark. His face was puffy and red like he had been brutally sandpapered by a stubbly vagina.
Not bad mate, you?
Ah you know, fucking knackered man. She shat the bed last night, you know?
I kind of didn't know, did he mean his wife? Had she no shame? If the good lady shat our bed I would rub her nose in it before throwing her out into the street to live like a tramp.
Aye man, it's brutal. She keeps doing it.
I made my very best sorry someone shat in your bed face.
At that point his wife and daughter came over. His wife was quite the pretty lady, all blonde and fit looking. She saw the little boom strapped to my chest and cooed.
Oh he's lovely! What age is he now?
Erm, nine weeks I think?
She gave me a playful punch on the shoulder with a well manicured hand.
Men!
She rolled her pretty eyes. She was bloody lovely despite being a dirty shitty-bed bastard.
We had better get back to the dancing! Lovely meeting you again boomdawg.
She leaned in and gave me a peck on the cheek. I tried not to visibly wince. I mean she must have showered? Surely she showered if she had spent the night caked in shit?
Does yours shit the bed much?
Asked Mark dolefully, as if already knowing the answer.
Eh, no mate, she does not.
See mate, once they start, they cannae stop. It's like Pringles. I've no had a good night sleep in months.
Wow, can you not send her to the doctor's? Or the vets...
I chuckled as I said that so that he didn't think I was out and out calling his wife a filthy cow of a woman.
He looked at me oddly.
Naw mate, we got a book about it, gonnae try some of the stuff in that.
A book? About how to stop shitting the bed? I must have missed that on the Amazon best seller list. Chapter 3: stick a cork up your partner's chuff. I wondered if it was the sequel to Start shitting the bed today!
I tried changing the subject.
It's bloody freezing out isn't it.
He looked at me reproachfully.
Try stripping the bed at four in the morning, that's freezing.
I looked around for the good lady or my daughter. I had to escape this incessant shit talk.
Nobody tells you this shit. Nobody warns you.
He grumbled.
There's always divorce!
I exclaimed brightly!
He reared back in outrage.
Not the wife!! The wee lassie! Ur ye nuts?
Sorry dude, I thought you meant your wife.
He made chewing motions as if eating an otter's foot. His brow furrowed. The silence lengthened.
Oh oh, is it going to come to fisticuffs? I thought.
Then Mark's face cracked open in a big grin. He laughed until his shoulders shook near hysterically with it.
Ha haaaaahaaahahahaaaaaa, I can't believe you thought it was the wife!! I mean no way. She will love that, oh this is magic. Thanks mate, you have cheered me right up.
He got up and went off to find his wife to tell her the hilarious story of how I thought she shat the bed.
The good lady came over moments later with the little lady.
Hey was that Mark? He's looking tired.
I leaned in close and whispered.
Yeah, it's a shame. His wife is shitting the bed and he is getting no sleep.
