Go away and leave me in peace!

I AM being Looked After.

My wife has flown to England for four weeks. She’s been gone for one of them. I expect to be dead by the time she returns.

My children are Looking After me. I sound ungrateful and I shouldn’t. They are doing a magnificent job, but if you thought the phrase “killing him with kindness” was just a figure of speech, think again!

I knew this would happen. Just before she went through Immigration she said to the gathered family: “Be good, and Look After Dad.”

I don’t know if she exactly said it with capitals, but with capitals is how they’ve been doing it. I tried to warn her from the back; tried waving her to silence but it was too late.

I had this idea that I would get home in the evenings, make a cup of coffee, open a packet of Tim Tams and a good book and revel in the peace.

I’d have to feed the dog of course, and pat its head from time to time, but I could lie about taking it for walks.

They won’t stop feeding me. I am dining like a king every evening. They bring wine and I drink it (it would hurt their feelings if I refused). I wake up with hangovers – and not just from the drink, either. I wake up with food hangovers!

And they stay and chat. I like to go to bed early but they won’t leave. Do they think I’m terminally depressed and suicidal? Do I look like the kind of bloke who is going to stick his head in the gas oven? We don’t have a gas oven!

They do my washing and vacuum the floor and there is absolutely nothing I can do to stop them. How can you say: “For God’s sake go away and leave me in peace!” to people who have your welfare at heart? To people who love you? Unless, of course, they don’t and they really are trying to kill me.

It’s not that I’m ungrateful for the interest. It’s very touching. But I have news for all wives whose husbands say: “No, you go. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

They mean it. They want to wallow in their own idleness. They want to let the dishes pile up and the sock drawer empty. They want to eat whenever they choose and they do not want to fuss with reheating specially prepared meals from the freezer that are carefully labelled Monday, Tuesday… and so on.

They want to not shave and not shower and most especially they do not want to get up before 9am at the weekends.

I got a call on Saturday at 7.30am. “Hello Dad, we’re coming round to cook you breakfast.”

“We?”

“Me and Scotty and all the others.”

“You’re all going to cook breakfast?”

“No. I’m cooking; they’re just coming to keep you company. You must be lonely.”

“Well… I’m trying….”

“What?”

“Nothing. That’ll be lovely. Thanks.”

My wife rang last night. “Are they Looking After you?”

I hung up.