Easy As Mauling Out Of Spite.
by: >^^< the disgraced one!
part:343

It was Sunday again, the weeks go far too quickly and weekends even faster. Because we rode yesterday, I had chores to do today. It struck me as rather sexist, that in Stella's absence, I was the only female in the house and seemed to be expected to do most of the household chores.

I was busy chasing dust with the vacuum cleaner when Simon asked if I could do it more quietly as he was trying to read the paper. I was about to explode with twice the power of Krakatoa, when I remembered how close we'd come to splitting up. I contained the high explosive, and told him that, "No, this needs to be done, if it's annoying you then give me a hand and we can both settle down with the Sunday Times."

Obviously, he didn't need it to end that urgently, because I was left to it. I had the joint busy roasting in the oven, and a line of washing out, so I hadn't done badly for my day of rest. He had managed to eat his breakfast and read the business section of the news.

Tom was out with Kiki, and tended to stay out until I'd done most of the chores, no wonder he liked me as his 'daughter', free slave labour. I wonder what would have happened had I not changed over, and I suppose I'd still be sitting in my bedsit, wearing my few female garments, when I thought it was safe. My previous life didn't bear comparison with what was now, all because a lousy driver knocked me off my bike. I wonder if that is a comparable cause and effect to the butterfly wing in the Amazon causing a hurricane in Africa. I think mine's better, but I'm not sure Stephen Hawkins- 'the wheelchair guy' according to Homer Simpson, would agree.

After a roast lamb dinner, Tom and Simon snoozed while I loaded dishwashers or did the ironing. It kept me awake and hopefully kept some calories from leaving deposits of adipose tissue in various bits of my body.

I had just finished my chores and got fed up with the assorted snores arising from the lounge, that I decided I'd go for a ride. There were about two hours of daylight left, so I could do a twenty miler if my legs felt up to it.

It was really good to get out in the fresh air. I'd been cooped up all day working in the house. I'd have preferred to have been fiddling with bikes but that's life. I had decided I was going to strip down my old mountain bike and rebuild it, the forks had never been the same since I'd ridden it over the bumpkins who roomed in the same complex as me before I moved in with Simon and Stella.

Today, I was on my Specialized Ruby and enjoying every moment of it, although I was half thinking if I could squeeze an hour of tinkering in during the evening. It was relatively mild and the garage had reasonable lighting, so it might be possible. The only query, did I want oily fingers for the rest of the week?

Back from my ride, the two sleeping beauties were still zonked in the lounge, I changed into a pair of jeans and sweater and went out to play in the garage.

Simon came out to look for me when his stomach started to rumble. "Oh there you are, what are you doing?"

"What's it look like?" I snapped back.

"Tinkering with an old mountain bike."

"So that's what I'm doing."

"Is that your old mountain bike?"

"Yep, this bike (a Muddy Fox for those interested) and I have done many miles together."

"What are you doing?"

"Stripping the back axle to look at the bearings, why?"

"I just wondered."

"Didn't you do that sort of thing when you were a teenager?"

"Good lord no, if anyone did it, it was my father, he was the bike nut."

"Oh, you missed out on hours of fun."

"Are you serious, Cathy? I don't consider getting my hands dirty and my nails chipped for something someone else could do better."

"Yeah, but what if you were miles from anywhere and your back wheel broke or some spokes in it, did?"

"I'd walk to the nearest phone and call for help," Simon had completely missed my point of self-sufficiency.

"Yeah okay, I'll be in, in ten minutes my hands are getting too cold to grip the spanners."

"I'll put the kettle on for you, don't be too long."

I muttered something rude under my breath, how dare he tell me what to do! Then, I counted to ten and calmed down. It was much ado about nothing.

The boys wanted something to eat, I wanted a shower, they lost. I told them they were big enough to get their own supper. I'd baked a new loaf, a fact they hadn't realised. They sat down and ate most of it before I finished my shower. Once again, I came close to exploding.

"Boys, I am getting the distinct impression that you are taking me for granted. I am not the head cook, housekeeper and chief bottle washer. Next weekend, you two can give me a hand with the chores or I will go on strike."

"Aw, come on, Cathy, be reasonable. I slave for five days a week for the bank, I need a rest over the weekends." Simon was putting a very old case.

"I work too, Simon. Sometimes it's long hours as well, I shall be filming soon, most of it is in my own time, certainly the writing of scripts and things are done then."

"I work too," said Tom, "harder than you pair." It might have been true once upon a time, but not so much now. He forgot I knew what happened in his office.

"Right, I don't care who works the hardest, I am not going to do all the housework and cooking until Stella comes home, because that won't make much difference, she doesn't cook much anyway." She did help with the laundry and the ironing. In fact, Simon used to help back at the cottage, so what had changed? Tom used to look after his own house before I came along, was I that stupid? Not any more!

They looked at each other and grumbled.

"I'll do the cooking, most of the time, but I want you two to make a rota to help me out. If you don't, you'll lose loads of weight, because I'll stop cooking. Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I like doing this stuff any more than you lot."

From the looks on their faces, they got the message but didn't much like it. However, Simon made some tea and Tom did some sandwiches while I looked at the newspaper and tried not to appear too smug.