Thursday, October 13, 2011


‘I did something really mean yesterday,’ says my friend over the sound of her screaming child. ‘I sent a text to my husband saying I was pregnant. And then I switched my phone to silent so I didn’t hear his calls.’ She pauses. 
‘He had been annoying me for several days.’

If you were at war, you would want her on your side wouldn’t you?
That sort of stealth bombing is to be commended.

I prefer a less direct approach.
My combat style is less of a deadly missile and more a war of attrition.
My method takes time. And steadfast commitment to the cause.
Niggle, niggle, niggle. Pick, pick, pick.
Slowly chipping away at my husband’s resolve until he explodes in a torrent of swear words, which I then yell about because he says them in front of our daughter.
Double victory.

Of course if he could just pick up his towels, put his dirty clothes in the basket, close doors he opens and stop losing his wallet, I wouldn’t need to fight like the Vietcong, but then I would also be in a marriage unlike any other heterosexual couple in the world and I honestly just doubt that actually exists.

You can learn a lot from our friends in Vietnam, so if you’re fighting method needs work, follow these few points below.

·               Tunnels. The Vietcong hid in tunnels and surprised their enemy by popping up all over the place. You can do similarly by striking when your husband least expects it. A mid-shower reminder to hang up the floor mat afterwards is a good way to start.
·               Booby traps. Don’t be afraid to ask your husband to clean the bathroom, then claim that because the laundry is included in the space, that also means start the load of poo-nappies.
·               Land Mines. Bloody awful things. Likened around the house to forgotten things in the fridge, the inside of the oven and the temperament of an exhausted breastfeeding mum. Best part is, he’ll never know just where and when they’ll blow.
·               Hit and Run attacks. Now our human has dropped the 11pm and 3am feed, it is time to reclaim my independence one occasional evening at a time. It is perfectly acceptable to feed dinner to said human, (both solid and boob) leave the resulting mess on the drop sheet and flee out the front door for a night on the town with the girls. This will still not make up for the daily torture of removing Weetbix cement from the grooves of the table, but it’s a start.

Everyone’s fighting style is unique, and depends largely on the foe, the territory and the current political climate. You may find more affinity with the Kamikaze pilots of WWII (although crashing and burning is not a sustainable attack I would venture). Perhaps you’re more of a sniper - one shot and they’re down. You could be like poison gas – silent but deadly. Or maybe you’re more of a Spartan soldier, sporting a razor sharp sword and a small loincloth.

Whatever your style, embrace it wholeheartedly. As Winston Churchill, that great wartime leader said,

If you have an important point to make, don't try to be subtle or clever. Use a pile driver. Hit the point once. Then come back and hit it again. Then hit it a third time - a tremendous whack.

Go forth and conquer people.
May victory be yours.


  1. Boiling water will get the weetbix cement off my love, even weeks later (or so I've heard, that kind of thing never happens in my perfect house)

  2. it's such a glamorous life isn't it? thanks for reading xx

  3. That makes complete sense!It sounds like a great book. Thanks for sharing.


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