Wife At That Stage Of The Month Where She Tolerates Husband For A Few Hours

“YOU know what, I suppose he’s not the worst of them,” local woman Janet Rice told herself as she gazed longingly at her husband of nine years, Liam, who sat peacefully in his favourite chair scrolling through his phone despite dozens of jobs waiting to be done around the house.

Normally, the 35-year-old would start hoovering around him or slamming presses in the kitchen to drop the hint that she was always on the go, but not today.

“He could lose a few pounds, sure, and the Turkey trips aren’t too dear anymore, but even though the hair and gums have receded like the tide before a tsunami, he’s still my big lug of a Liamo,” Rice continued, quietly sizing him up like a wildcat stalking prey.

“You alright? You’re staring at me weird,” the uneasy husband said, peering over his DIY-patched glasses. He recognised the all-too-familiar tone of his wife’s fleeting tolerance for him, aware it usually heralded the incoming storm of premenstrual tension that he wouldn’t dare call ‘premenstrual tension’.

“Can I not look at my husband?” she shot back, her words echoing like a warning shot. The conversation could now spin in any direction, depending entirely on the sweating father-of-two’s next carefully chosen reply.

“I love you!” came his default defence system, followed swiftly by: “We should go for dinner at the weekend.” Allowing himself a brief moment of smugness at the smooth recovery.

“We’re going to my parents, remember? I told you weeks ago. You always do this, Liam – Jesus!” Janet snapped, her patience evaporating.

“Oh yes, brilliant! We can bring them too!” Liam blurted before receiving a hug, banking himself at least another hour of lounging around time.

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