Jas mowed the lawn again. And it was a perfect job! Not a Cessna in sight.
A week’s holiday in Greece! Hurrah. It started with Jas entering McDonalds at Gatwick Airport at 5am. She had actually already had some breakfast before then, but we’ve learnt that pregnancy requires constant refuelling. And, she felt like she ‘needed’ an egg and bacon McMuffin. “Don’t do it”, I said, as though I was trying to talk her out of bungee jumping. She went in, with me hovering outside, the shit-food force field repelling me, preventing me from going near the entrance. I sidled off as Jas disappeared amongst the queues, and went to buy something edible for my breakfast. As I returned to the vicinity of the McDonalds entrance, Jas bolted out, looking very grey, paused to throw me her McMuffin and then ran to a toilet. I didn’t even get a chance to say “I told you so”. As it happened, Jas suddenly felt ill from standing in a crowded queue for too long (rather than the ambience and smell of a place that produced food with the taste and nutritional value of a week-old dog turd). She returned shortly after, a little less pallid, and downed the aforementioned muffin.
While we were away, Jas produced a personal best: one night she rose six times to piddle. Her bladder had been showing signs of becoming increasingly compressed, but this one night the seat of our Greek lavatory never had a chance to get cold. I feared that as the weeks marched on and the uterus grew to ever-fruity proportions, our bed will be resembling a beach again, and not for the biscuit crumbs...
Was I going out in sympathy? I don’t know. I prefer to think that the reason for putting my T-shirt on inside-out at the beach was due to its design – it looks pretty much the same either way. I just wanted my pocket on the inside, that’s all.