Confessions of a Terrible Wife

Not particularly hot on the heels of Confessions of a Bad Mother come the promised Confessions of a Terrible Wife.  I share them in the expectation my readers will not only absolve me of my sins, but that you will alleviate my guilt by sharing your own shameful secrets. 


My husband tips his loose change onto the kitchen counter when he gets home. I take it and let him think he must have spent it.

I have no idea how to empty our vacuum cleaner.  We've had it for five years and the children refer to it as Daddy's Hoover. 

Sometimes I fake an orgasm just because I'm a bit bored.

How does one dispose of a vibrator?

A rather belated spring-clean has resulted in the discovery of a number of redundant household items which now require disposal. Amongst them a defunct kettle, a teetering pile of unused crockery, several mateless earrings and a vibrator.

It’s been broken for ages. In fact it broke soon after purchase and well within any recognised period of guarantee. It’s just that there’s something about the genre of product which makes one reluctant to request a refund. So it has languished at the back of my sock drawer to be thrown away.

Are you a smug parent?

My son has an unfeasibly large head.  It's quite cartoonishly vast and I'm certain it contributes to his inordinately high trip/fall ratio.  When he was a baby we hoped that he would grow into it but now that he is three years old I have grown to accept he will only ever wear sweaters with zipped necks and will always sport a buzz-cut - excess hair serving only to accentuate his disproportionate swede. 

I mention this not in order to humiliate my son, but to make a point about smug parenting.  We've all met smug parents before - at the school gate, in toddler groups, at baby sessions, in fact I've met smug parents in the waiting room of the maternity unit.  Their off-spring were barely conceived before they began pontificating about the genius germinating within. 

Silly Moffa

The pygmies have acquired a new insult.  I don't know if this has come via the new nanny and her acquaintances, or whether they have picked it up from Mr Tumble and his cohorts.  Whatever the source, any squabble or clumsiness is met with a chorus of "silly moffa!" and peals of laughter. 

I like it.  It's rather endearing, especially when uttered with a toddler's lisp.  In triplicate.  It's not harsh or insulting, it's really rather quaint.  So the husband and I have adopted the term - for weeks it has become part of family parlance.  "You silly moffa!" I cry, as he burns the toast.  I accidentally drop a Le Creuset on his toe; "oh what a silly moffa!" he retorts.  Amid other things.  Why, I even used it at work the other day.