“Y’know, I might as well talk to myself.”
“Right, c’mon.”
“I ask you to do one little thing, and you still can’t manage it. One small thing.”
“Number 17 – got that one.”
“Are you even listening to a word I say?”
“Number 32 – hey, we’re on a roll here, pet.”
“Now, I’ve got to try and put a shelf up on top of everything else.”
“Number 49. Haha. A tenner at least.”
“I suppose you think I sit around on my arse all day, while you’re a t work, don’t you? Feet up, cuppa, Jeremy Kyle? Is that it?”
“6. Oh c’mon!”
“Well, I don’t. It’s hard bloody work looking after three kids and keeping a house in order. Food doesn’t just appear in the cupboards y’know. And it sure as hell doesn’t cook itself.”
“Haha! 18. Get in!”
“And little fairies don’t come out and sort out your dirty washing or clean the bath when you leave it covered in grime.”
“25. Haha, I don’t believe it love. Do you believe this?”
“You never listen to a bloody word I say. Not a bloody word.”
“Do you believe it?”
“I don’t believe this. You’re not even listening.”
“Oh my God. Oh my God. Look, I’m shaking, love.”
“Maybe you’ll listen to this…”
“We’ve won. We’ve bloody won the lottery.”
“…I’m leaving you.”
I'm Emma; mum, writer and coffee addict trying to make a mark on the crazy world of fiction.
January 27th, 2012 at 10:59 am
Ah, the perils of talking without listening!
January 27th, 2012 at 5:27 pm
Nicely done. It doesn’t appear to me that either side is really listening.
January 27th, 2012 at 5:38 pm
People always thinks they’re listening when they often aren’t… well written.