The husband has a cough.
I can precisely date the onset of this cough to just after I got back from my last work trip to Dubai at the end of November. It started off as a tickly little thing, but has since developed into a full-blown whoop, most pronounced at night. (I did try and get audio evidence this morning to demonstrate this to you, but failed miserably).
If there's one thing you need to know about me, it is that I do not react well to being unnecessarily deprived of sleep. To say I turn into a snarling, red-eyed monster zombie is an understatement. At 5.50 this morning, I decided enough was enough. I turned on my phone next to the bed, and texted him the number of the doctor's surgery, plus "That is all I have to say". As we are such a modern couple, he picked up his mobile from his bedside table and responded "Ah. You're not talking to me then".
In a straw poll of a couple of friends and some friendly twitter peeps, I realise I am not alone in occasionally feeling like I need to sort out him indoors. A large proportion make all family appointments, which just happens to include those for their husband. Those who stay at home see it as a logical part of their role - after all it only takes two minutes. For me though, even if I managed to get over my telephobia and make the call, I ultimately know that trying to make an appointment for someone who works an hour away is tricky to say the least.
However, the overriding niggle is the fact that, ultimately I am not his mother, and I refuse to behave like one to a grown man. If only it were not having a directly negative effect on my sleep patterns... (before you suggest it, yes, I can still hear him from the spare room!)
This morning was the final straw. I have threatened withdrawal of marital favours until the appointment is made.
I'll keep you posted.
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P.S. Christmas and New Year were lovely, and thank you to those of you asking - the office Christmas party was surprisingly enjoyable!
P.P.S. Mr Tin - I love you really. x
