Why is everyone in Cornwall? I mean, I know why – it’s a lovely place. But literally 50% of my acquaintances seem to be going to Cornwall over the Bank Holiday weekend. I want to go to bloody Cornwall. I want to stay in a yurt and buy cheap buckets and spades and Facebook the shit out of Moo’s first trip to the beach. I want to feast on scones and pasties and drink cider. I want to go for a morning run on the sand and have sex in the evenings. Well alright, I don’t like cider, I don’t want to stay in a yurt and actually I definitely don’t want to have sex, I’m too tired.
The problem with May is that you get two long weekends and you’re expected to maximise your fun. Like really go to town on the fun fun fun. I’m on maternity leave, I don’t work Mondays, it makes no odds to me. In fact it’s worse because my groups aren’t on and my husband tries to muscle in on my routine.
Last Bank Holiday Monday, I ran a sloppy 10 miles, came home in tears, cut my ankle really badly on a razor that was blunt 6 showers ago, and ate a crap-ton of foam bananas at the circus. Fun was had in the high top, but it was aggressively engineered fun because one performance in, Mouse announced that she was scared of the circus. All of it. Thankfully some neon rollerskaters with mohawks obliterated her senses into submission, and as long as we kept a steady stream of candy floss at the ready, we were all good.
I noticed at the start of this week that the days of the month were approaching the high twenties. This means payday, but I’m on SMP so there are no special treats or nights on the lash for me. I consulted the calendar. So far all I had booked in was a reminder to change my contact lenses. “What shall we do then?” asks my husband. Hastily followed with “…that’s cheap? What shall we do that’s cheap?” I’ve suspected for a while that he’s under the impression I’m rinsing him for cash. I’d better stop buying shoes off eBay with the credit card, that won’t be helping my case.
“I know it’s mega dull but I do need to defrost the freezer…” At least that’s free.
“Ah, ok,” he replies, knowing that this means a lot of chips and random leftovers for dinners. “The fridge could do with a bloody good clean too. And I have been meaning to pressure wash my bike.”
We nod at one another, yep, that’s our long weekend plans sorted then. I feel like we’ve just sewn up a carefully negotiated business deal and I wonder whether I should offer him my hand to shake. Usual weekend jobs plus an extra day of Big Jobs, like a Buy One, Get One Half Price deal. I’m sorry, husband. I’m sorry we’re so boring. It won’t always be like this, next year we’ll be back on two salaries and we can go to Cornwall AND Devon. Luckily, I make a really mean scone.
-SJW May 2016