After a week which was quite spectacular in its awfulness and the recent patter of tiny feet.. WITH CLAWS.. I decided to go where no one,without a penis and a 4x4 should dare to go; the Tip.
Heartened by the new discovery that, a Citroen Xsara, can comfortably hold 27 bags of recycled paper, plastics and garden waste and with Dolly blasting on the CD player, I joined the masses queueing at Colchester's civil amenities site. I mused that Women of the 21st Century certainly couldn't "have it all", otherwise SH would be sitting here revving the engine, whilst I ironed his underpants in a Cath Kidston pinny, speculating what a what new challenges my week in the office would bring? However I decided that perhaps being able to do it all is in fact more satisfying than actually, having it all?
In fact I m fairly sure that SH is probably spending his Sunday in the gym, before swanning back to his neo-Georgian town house in Chav Central, while I lay face down with my arm inserted up to the elbow (wrapped in a bin bag) trying to unblock the kitchen drain of the family home! Although this was disgusting beyond all reason, it was strangely empowering, knowing that it proved, beyond all doubt that, SH's insistence that I was a, "fat, useless waste of space and oxygen" was, in fact, totally unfounded?
So back to the Tip, where surly, unshaven Tip Officer guided me to the cavernous containers where I could offload the unwanted detritus of Christmas. Sunday Dads eyed me suspiciously as I flawlessly parallel parked and then jumped out. Dressed as what can only be described as "contemporary Mrs Noah" and leaving Dolly wailing Bluegrass on the Stereo, I began to haul bin bags out of the boot. And bless them they all stood and watched! Not that I wanted any help, far from it ,I was quite content staggering up the wobbly steps carrying 3x my body weight in crap, but I was was amazed at their bemused hostility.
I presume they thought I must be a nasty dyke who had dared to trespass onto the holy ground of male domesticity, because of course only men are supposed to go to the tip? It is their token gesture of the week to load the wailing, squabbling offspring into the 4x4 or Volvo, along with the cardboard from the new fitted kitchen and the grass cuttings and pat the Wife and say "it's alright darling, I ll take them to the tip with me. You sit down with the papers and a cup of tea" whilst smug in the knowledge that they just earned their shirts ironed and a blow job if they are lucky!
Having offloaded the 27 bags with lightening speed beneath their testosterone -laden glare, I whipped off the plastic gloves and tossed them in after my my rubbish. Beaming at the men on the steps , I nodded conspiratorially at them announcing " ah that s not so difficult is it?" before whipping off my Mrs Noah overalls, to reveal the assets God gave me and a perfectly nice outfit which did not shout evil, feminist, comfortable shoe wearer by any stretch of the imagination.
Well that sealed it! The gauntlet(or yellow marigold) was well and truly thrown down.
Watching in my wing mirror as I waited for the exit, several middle- aged Dads decided to move one of the huge metal skips in order to create a wider access to the Green waste/garden. There was a flurry of activity and bravado as they heaved and strained. But it wouldn't budge and their activity provoked an outraged response from the neon- vested Guardians of Grime, who descended on them and informed them in now uncertain terms to desist in their affront of the Garbage Status Quo.
Chortling, I went home to get the next load of rubbish feeling strangely empowered and not at all the needy ,bane of society that the Single Mother is deemed to be. Smug is rarely something I aspire to but on this occasion, it was justified.