This whole business of going to work has taken its toll on me

ONE week down as a working woman and I’m only fit for the bed. This whole business of getting up, washed, dressed, made up and out the door for 9 am has taken its toll on me, to the extent that I was asleep by 10 pm on Friday night.

In fact, if I’m to be honest, I haven’t been out the door for 9am any morning. I was actually 15 minutes late on my first day – 25 if you count the 10 minutes I spent outside the building trying to remember the code to get in. I slunk in the door in the hope of slipping past my boss unnoticed, only to find him waiting for me. I gave him my most winning smile and beat a hasty retreat behind my computer before he had the chance to give me a verbal warning.

On the second day, I decided to take the advice of some of my more seasoned working friends by showering and washing my hair the night before. I subsequently ended up looking like my head had gotten stuck in a tumble dryer the next morning and spent the day feeling unclean while sniffing surreptitiously under my armpits.

The children weren’t impressed with the new arrangements either – coming home to a cold, dark house with their bedrooms in exactly the same state of chaos as they had left them that morning.

‘What’s for dinner?’ they whined as I tore off my clothes and climbed into my comfiest pyjamas at 6.30pm whilst wondering was it too early to go to bed.

‘Dinner?’ I said. ‘Dinner?? Are you kidding me? I’ve been working all day. I’m exhausted! Ask your father.’

In fairness he’s a dab hand with a potato peeler so had the spuds done by the time I took off my make up. We had to make do with fishfingers because I forgot to go shopping but I’ve had worse dinners. Usually ones cooked by myself!

‘Is this what it’s going to be like from now on?’ asked The Eldest. ‘What do you mean? Your father cooking?’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Let’s face it, he cooked even when you weren’t working. I mean there being no food in the house, like seriously there’s not even bread! And I can’t find my sports kit or any clean socks,’ he moaned.

The Youngest added her views. ‘I prefer it when you’re home because you keep the house nice and tidy and there’s always biscuits. Why do you have to work anyway?’ ‘ To earn money,’ I replied sanctimoniously. ‘Why don’t you just spend daddy’s money?’ she inquired. ‘She does,’ said her brother. The funniest thing is – I only worked two days! Wait till they see what it’s like next week when I’m working three – there won’t be a child washed nor a dinner cooked.

Help! Send gin!

THE CHILDREN WEREN’T IMPRESSED WITH THE NEW ARRANGEMENTS EITHER – COMING HOME TO A COLD, DARK HOUSE