I went to kick the husband last night, and I couldn't (don't worry, he's perfectly used to being kicked, and he always deserves it).
Seriously, could not.
I made a swing and only managed to get my leg about a foot and a half in the air. Which of course made the husband pee himself laughing, which made me make a more concerted effort, which again, failed miserably, by which time the husband is really quite out of control and I probably should have just stabbed him.
I did find that if I brace both feet, lean right back on a secure surface such as the kitchen bench to keep vaguely stable and kind of upright, and lift my leg up reeeeeally slowly, I could almost get him on the back of the thigh. If I tried really hard and we had about half an hour spare, I could definitely have at least got him in the knees. If he was to stand perfectly still to receive the kicking. And, really, he needs to give me a bit of a hand as well.
Gutted.
Children really do change your life.
2 comments:
simonne, for goodness sake, don't kick him again. you are really going to need him to be on your side reallllly soon when you discover you can't even put your own undies on without assistance - or wash your feet - or do up your shoes. warning - kicked men can and will leave you stranded without notice if mistreated at an earlier date!
Can kind of put on my own undies by employing the whole leaning on a solid surface and bracing technique, coupled with a hold-one-side-and-flick-the-other-at-one-foot-and-hope-I-get-said-foot-in-the-leg-hole hope-and-throw sequence.
I can't see my feet so I don't give a toss about washing them. Wiggling my toes of a bar of soap on the floor of the shower seems to be keeping wiffiness at bay so far so I'm perfectly happy.
As for shoes, that's why God invented slip-ons.
I've got it covered if by some miracle I do manage to land him a good one and he takes offence.
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