Why is the bedroom floor covered in soup and jam?

[jumperfucker]

omg Can this day be over yet? Please?

Because I work for the NHS, in a position where new advancements in medical technology and practises affect my job, I just got to spend the last 12 hours listening to some guy with the world's worst lisp talk about a new procedure for something so rare and obscure, most people will hear about it from House and/or Casualty within the next six months (assuming they haven't already. I don't actually watch either of those. All the inaccuracies, I tell you. ALL OF THEM).

Anyway, that's why I was down in Wimbledon today. I figured, S is sick, he's probably not been up to much, and since I've had all my jabs for the year, having a cuddle wouldn't actually be the most risky thing I've done all day. And he's sick enough that he might have even let me get away with it.

I'm not in the mood for a cuddle. I don't know what sarah_s and Mrs not_thatbill did when they came over to check on S, but the bedroom looks like a bloody warzone happened in a Tesco's aisle.

I suppose I should have known something was up when Sarah called me for advice. I really didn't think making some tea and toast would have been that big of a job, but apparently it was!

Seriously. Why is there jam on the carpet? That shit is never coming out. There's soup there as well. And the bed is full of crumbs. What did he do? Sleep in the toast? Actually, don't answer that. I don't want to know. The kitchen's a disaster as well, which I know, it wasn't great when I left this morning, but I'm pretty sure I didn't leave the milk lying open (and on its side!) on the table.


I swear to god, he's like dating a two-year-old sometimes.

Comments

[not_thatbill]

Sorry, mate, but that's a pretty funny mental image. Mind, I wouldn't want to be you, but still hilarious

Millie asks if the cleaning products were of any help?

[sarah_s]

Oh, he was just lovely today. You're going on the night shift after this, if only to spite him. Or you're buying me dinner. Or possibly both.

The jam and soup are his own fault. The toast — well, shared blame on that, though he'll try to tell you I ate all his blackcurrant jam. (I didn't. He ate half.) He probably slept on the crumbs after; at some point I took his phone hostage (it's in the skull, if he hasn't found it yet), turned the lights off, and left him to die.

The milk's not me, though. :/

How'd the conference go?