Well, lookee what today brought:
TWO gainfully employed Jeffcoats in the same house! I know: how can so much professionalism be contained in this tiny space? Other pertinent questions include ‘how come his office gets a canteen and mine doesn’t?’ and ‘is it really beyond the capabilities of high-end businesses to take a decent badge photo?’
This beautiful synergy of paid usefulness will be in existence for exactly 62 days, after which I will hang up my red pen and bow out of the breadwinning arena, as gracefully as someone shaped like a giant hamburger can bow anywhere. In the meantime, we’ve decided that it’s silly to think we’re really on two wages – that only encourages some people to buy more nice food for when some people are bored of eating raisins – so instead, one of us is earning the bringing-home-the-bacon money and the other is working for TJ. Personally, I’m quite happy to hand the bacon-bringing over to Timothy. Granted, working for a hiccupy foetus is a bit of a change from working for an academic publisher. But trading hours in the office for shiny baby furniture is much more satisfying than when I’m doing it for diesel and council tax.
I will miss my efficiently lovely house husband, I admit. You’ve never seen anyone delimescale a kettle like him. But by jingo, I love this chap in a suit and tie.
Lucky for me, he’ll be wearing one six days out of seven for the next forty years. I reckon we can squeeze at least another decade out of that shirt.