Tale from home

Tales from my home.

Are my wife and daughter actually really Russian oligarchs ?

All began with the charitable acceptance of refugees from the great bathroom wars, when the insistence of the local amazons to impose corrective measures on the perfectly functional facility of the female bathroom space went badly wrong. The male bathroom was then forcibly annexed and the aggression since seems to have accelerated at an exponential rate.  

Where once there was mutual respect and accepted boundaries and borders plus clear lines of demarcation between the male and female parts of the house, it would now seem that historically gender defined areas and even neutral areas have been usurped and appropriated for feminine utility.

The cat and I, having long since retreated and given up most of the floor ground to the minefields of  boots, trainers, handbags, phones chargers, ipads and computer paraphernalia, now find that all cupboard and bedroom space is also disputed ground. My desk is decorated with similar objects and things that always seem to ‘need fixing right away’. This morning even the espresso machine was adorned with jewellery and has sadly gone the way of the much lamented fruit bowl.  Tried for size and then discarded clothing often stretches as far as the eye can see (from bedroom to lounge). Empty vessel objects, previously unused and kept for purely aesthetic reasons, now overflow as the jackbooted ladies flaunt and move their chattels around with impunity while Putin them in here and Putin them in there.

Could it be that there is no male solidarity out there to apply guilt sanctions enough to drive back the forces of femme?  Is this solitary male plaintive cry to be lost forever in a cloud of perfume and hairspray?

 

Colin Anthony Cooke

Currently Lisbon