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Sleepless in…Waterloo

I’m having a bout of insomnia at the moment. I tried counting men in kilts but not even that did the trick!

My insomnia has plagued me all my life. It drives Mr V crazy (and not in a sexy shenanigans way, as I found out). I tell him “if you find it annoying, how do you think I feel?”

So when Mr V found me (and my hairy disciple, Vegas) in the kitchen at 2am mum-dancing to ABBA he was not surprised.

“Am I your wee dancing queen?” I asked him, trying to reel him in on an imaginary rope.

“No, you’re my giant pain in the arse,” he said, resisting all my wifely hotness, “Do you want a cup of cocoa?”

“Yes please. The insomnia instructions say to get up and start your routine again. I’m on 10am Saturdays, twerking to Waterloo and cleaning the kitchen,” I announced, shaking my bum at him. Yet he would not be tempted by the sight of my big bottom, firmly encased in a pink, fluffy dressing gown, waggling wildly in his direction 🤷‍♀️ I fear we have reached a stage in life where we might be on different shenanigans clocks. Where rolling your eyes and handing your wife a cup of cocoa is preferable to sexy disco. I was starting to wonder if I should fast forward my routine to Saturday night, a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and me snoring like a baby elephant on the sofa. That’s usually when he’s up for shenanigans and I’m up for him buggering off so I can sleep. Far preferable to me being wide awake and perky and him wishing I would bugger off so he could sleep.

Anyway, we agreed I could fast forward my routine to 7pm on a Sunday and he sat with me on the sofa watching Countryfile until I pronounced it so boring that I was going to bed now, thank you very much.

Life may be full of problems but there’s a lot to be said for someone who is there for you, no matter how inconvenient you are.

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