where's my passport ?

oh dear. the hubs was due to fly out to vegas today on a business trip. last night at 10 o'clock i was brushing my teeth when he asked "Babe, where's my passport?".

oh dear. i last saw it on tuesday when i put it in an envelope along with his application for a UK driving licence and sent it off to Swansea. the darling didn't shout or even get the slightest bit cross with me. something i find quite incredible. my best friend phoned in the middle of the drama, "i'd have tried to kill you." she said.

it's a morose morning here at slummy towers. the hubs was up most of the night consoling himself with whisky and playstation. this morning, to make things worse the little thing has been sick three times and i'm fearing the return of the tummy bug that made her so ill on holiday.

and it's raining, my feet are cold and i'm fed up with dressing for winter when it's time for fun in the sun. in search of some moral support i called the step father. loyal as ever, he agreed that it was indeed a shame but worse things have happened at sea etc etc. i told him the hubs was worried about letting down his new bosses by missing the trip.

'i don't think that's too much of a problem" he said. " But you're not going to keep your job for long if you keep ****ing up like that!"

oh dear.