EBB (glancing up from his 30GB Apple Video iPod): Eh?
It gets worse.
The hallway, you, halfway down the stairs, panting and clasping the rails. EBB lounging in doorway.
You (calling out): What are you doing?
EBB: Why?
You (exasperated): What are you doing?
EBB: Just on the phone to work. Alright?
You: Did you make the other call?
EBB (irritated): What call?
You: To the midwife?
EBB (into receiver): Hold on a minute, I’m getting interrupted this end.
You: Have. You. Rung. The. Midwife?
EBB: I. Am. On. The. Phone.
You (seizing phone): Ring her now.
EBB (wandering off to living room): You do it. I don’t know the number.
You: Where are you going?
EBB: I’ve got to Sky Plus Clarkson Goes Large.
You look at phone, contemplating its use as possible murder weapon, and pondering the chances of getting off with diminished responsibility due to contractions.
What he says
‘We need a new one.’
‘Give it to me, it’s my turn.’
‘Boo-hoo.’
What you need to do
Become a fully qualified childminder—you’ll need a certificate to hold up in court when he tries to sue you for lack of attention.
Put him in the ballpool at IKEA. He’s no good to you when you’re trying to decide between the Zuftluft sofa bed and the Zerplerp recliner.
Draw up a reward chart. He gets an extra hour on his Scalextric if he tidies his trainers on the shoe rack; an hour less if he forgets to pick up the kids from school—again.
The Moody Bastard
What he does
Has his emotional barometer set permanently on heavy weather. ‘Going into one’ is his raison d’être. Bought Sains-bury’s own-label muesli? Big mood, even though he ate it yesterday. Turned the light switch on too noisily? Big Mood. Breathing in and out too frequently? Big Mood. Someone dies? Big Mood. Someone doesn’t die? Big Mood.
Although being extremely tetchy is more or less his full-time occupation, he manages to squeeze in a couple of extracurricular activities: Sending You to Coventry and Stomping Off.
He will Stomp Off anywhere and for no reason whatsoever. He will do it when you’re enjoying yourself and when you’re not enjoying yourself. Either way, he says it’s because he ‘doesn’t need the hassle’. Even on a pedalo in the middle of the Med, he’d find a way of Stomping Off.
It’s as if the Lord God Almighty had a big stick and was prodding him, and him alone, with it. No one on the planet is having a worse time, or is so deeply misunderstood.
But nothing particularly bad has happened to MB—oh, apart from that time you wittily nicked a chip off his plate. That sulk lasted a week.
If he worked on the production line in a Prozac factory, he’d still manage to create an atmosphere of despondency. But then that’s because MB ‘thinks too much’, has ‘too much depth’ and ‘was born with a Jack Kerouac temperament’. No, he doesn’t. No, he hasn’t. And no, he wasn’t. He’s just a peevish arse whose mission in life is to spoil your fun.
You and MB on sofa. You one end, MB at other, his arms crossed, sighing intermittently.
You: I love The Simpsons, don’t you?
MB: Yeah. (Not smiling) It’s funny.
You: I love Apu.
MB: That’s my favourite character.
You: Hey, snap!
MB: I thought you liked Marge.
You: No. Apu.
MB: Hang on! You definitely said you liked Marge.
You: I do like her but my favourite is Apu.
MB: I don’t believe this. You only like Apu because I said I did.
You: I did not. I’ve always liked Apu.
MB: I liked Apu first. I liked Apu before you were born.
You: It doesn’t matter.
MB: Yes, it does because you always have to spoil everything. If I like something, then you like it. Can’t I just like something, without you liking it, for God’s sake? Just let me have something for myself, will you? Haven’t you got a mind of your own? Let’s just watch Location, Location, Location. You’ve ruined this entire episode.
Even a shopping trip can turn into a minefield.
A supermarket. You, standing by the lollo rosso, MB next to you, arms folded, sighing.
MB: What are you doing?
You: Just squeezing these lettuces to see if they’re fresh.
MB: Why are you squeezing every third one?
You: I just am.
MB: Just squeeze the first.
You: What?
MB: Just squeeze the first one or the second one. You don’t have to do the third one.
You: There aren’t any rules for squeezing lettuces.
MB: So, in that case, why are you doing every third one? You’ve just completely contradicted yourself. You always have to be right, don’t you?
You: How can I contradict myself and always be right?
MB: You’d find a way.
You: Look, I’m not going to have a row with you about squeezing lettuces.
MB: In that case, stop picking an argument.
You: I didn’t! You started it.
MB: God, how childish. ‘You started it.’
You: I can’t say anything, can I? Just…stop being in such a mood.
MB: Do you bloody wonder why I get in a mood with you around? Just get a courgette. I couldn’t eat that lettuce now, thanks to your ridiculous behaviour. (Stomping Off to Cereals)
Everyone around MB ends up comparing their antidepressant dosages and side effects. He, however, has never taken a pill in his life. Why would he? Being surly is his greatest joy.
What he says
‘I’m mercurial, like the moon. I cannot help my overwhelming emotions.’
‘You