I’m bloody well under-appreciated, I am!

Damn.  I forgot the tomatoes when I went shopping.  Now I’m going to have to go back out for some tomatoes.  I can’t cook lasagne without tomatoes, you see… It’s an integral part of the recipe. You like lasagne, don’t you? Well, do you or don’t you? I mean, I’m not going to bother cooking it if you don’t like it.  You don’t give me any kind of indication either way, so I assume you don’t mind lasagne, but then when it’s served up to you, you turn your nose up at it, after hours of hard work, sweat and preparation.  It’s not fair!  I don’t like left feeling unappreciated you know. It always happens, I try my best – I try to please you and it just gets thrown back in my face. Now I know how  Hillary Clinton felt when she found out about that dress and the cigars… I bet Bill didn’t express an opinion when she asked him if he liked her lasagne, I reckon that’s where it all started. Well, I’m having none of it.  You can cook your own bloody dinner, you ungrateful bastard – do you think I have nothing better to do than to slave over a hot stove preparing a freshly cooked meal for you when you don’t even care?

Don’t just sit there in silence looking at me!  You can look at me like that with those big, wide eyes of yours and that innocent expression on your face, but it’s not going to work this time!  I work my fingers to the bone for you… I have ground coffee under my fingernails, hot maple syrup in my navel and carrot and onion peel nestling in my armpit hair!  I must look like a complete mess and it’s all your fault.  I’m just a skivvy to you, aren’t I?  You don’t have any respect left for me, do you, because I do absolutely everything for you! Is it any wonder you never sleep with me any more?  I’m such a fool.  You take me for granted like everyone else always has done… God, I regret meeting you, I regret the multiple times I’ve let you nibble my ear… and all the times you’ve given me pleasure with your tongue, licking me over and over again while I giggle uncontrollably. Well, that’s it, I’ve had enough!  You’re officially a bad dog, Simba – go lie down on your bed!

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About A.D.S.

You are reading the musings of a music-obsessed forty-something who was brought up on The Beatles, lived through Britpop and now spends his time in pursuit of the best music around. This 'blog gives me an outlet to write about the huge number of albums I buy and the many gigs I go to. All of the opinions expressed are my own and if you don't agree with me, then I understand - music is a very personal thing. I like to receive comments, especially if they're nice ones.
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