So we had TSOTSI’s in our garden at 4am on Wednesday morning, I tell you TSOTSI’s!! The bloody cheek! There we are snuggled up all cosy, Zeus firmly implanted on Dalekins face trying to find the warmest place to sleep. Dalekins wheezing sweetly (because of all the cat fur he’s snarfing up). Me, just wheezing because I am still sick am almost sure it’s Ebola, but without the whole bleeding out of the eyes thing. When out of my dream I hear voices that I should NOT be hearing. Right next to our window…
Dalekins sits up and that’s when we see the torches shining all over our garden, so Dalekins jumps up and yanks open the curtain and here’s these 2 guys walking around our garden like they belong there!! And unless our garden gnomes come alive at night… these shit heads did not belong there!
Gods… Garden gnomes that come alive at night. What a horrifying thought. Those little buggers are right at ankle biting height and they have those beady little eyes just waiting for an opportunity to chew through your shins when you’re out innocently watering your garden.
Em, FYI: No we do not really own garden gnomes. They creep me the hell out with those pointy red hats, and why are their cheeks always red…?? have they a drinking problem?
Anyhoo, so they see Dalekins yank the curtain open (the crooks not the gnomes) and they hurriedly leave our garden.
There I am wearing my moo cow pyjamas thinking oh fuck see now, I knew I should have put scarier looking pyjamas on… Um… like my Winnie the Pooh ones… oh but wait, those are summer jammies… and it’s colder than a penguins pecker out there! Gods what a conundrum! No ATTACK pyjamas!
And to be honest, would I REALLY have the guts to go outside screaming like a banshee with the first weapon I could pick up next to the bed (my vibrating foot massager – yes it’s really for feet – bunch of perverts) at worst I could throw it at them. At best, I could give them a foot massage and hope they run off briskly…?
Jokes aside, I am damn angry.
Now Dalekins and I have had to come up with a back up plan incase something bad happens to us in our haven… really tis true, it involves a feck off big butchers knife hidden intricately behind the shower curtain. Now I just have to hope that they let me go floss my teeth alone in the bathroom whilst ransacking our house. Or that I don’t end up stabbing my own self in the pancreas while brandishing it about. (This would be a feat on it’s own… I mean… where the feck IS your pancreas anyways? Nobody knows… nobody knows…)
We just want to be left alone. I don’t want to have a plan. I want to live in my happy place amongst the bunnies and flowers. I don’t want Dalekins to feel like he has to protect me with his life, I want the only time he throws himself on top of me to be when he’s practising his “crash bandicoot manoeuvre”… and we can do that again Dalekins as soon as my spleen heels from the last time.