My ex-wife wants to come to Cape Town for a holiday in December. Apparently it’s “too expensive” to book into a B&B, so she expects Muggins here to put her up for a fortnight. She believes that if she starts softening me up early, I’ll eventually crack and agree to let her invade my spare room.
Frankly, I would rather die first.
She is the worst house guest in the entire world (well, almost). Ambitious cockroaches study her habits before embarking on any major infestation. I suspect she is possessed by Azfilthyazel, the most senior of Hell’s sloth demons; answerable only to Lucifer himself. The fact that not a single one of her friends is prepared to offer her accommodation – at least, not more than once – suggests that I’m not alone in thinking this.
I have told her over a thousand times (“no, no, a thousand times no!”) that I’m not prepared to have her defile my comfort zone, but she simply refuses to hear my refusals. Every so often I offer a quiet prayer of thanks to the Flying Spaghetti Monster that she doesn’t work in telemarketing.
the other side of the mountain 
Perhaps you could buy her one of those coupons the sell at the Obz Kwikspar for the local shelter? That would be nice.
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Seems a bit unfair to the others, though.
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Oh good. You’re back.
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I am?
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Kyknoord, I am married to a woman who pours joy into me, but I – naturally – have history, and I wonder sometimes how on Earth it is that we ever get involved with females like this in the first place.
I don’t think it is simply because we think with our balls when we are young, so I can only conclude that they must drug us so that we become blinded to their manifest character flaws.
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Jon, it pleases me no end that you choose to believe I was not completely brain-damaged when I said “I do” to the former Mrs Kyknoord. We stuck it out for 11 years, but in truth, we weren’t particularly compatible. The signs were there from the outset, but I ignored them because my balls were in love. Marriage is often the triumph of hope over common sense.
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K – Oh I believe, I believe. I still have the mental blocks in place that prevent me from recounting the bunny-boiling, mad-cow horrors of a five-year session dating from my early twenties, but whoever suggested that women were the “gentler sex”????
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Women have better PR.
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Oh, ‘the triumph of hope over common sense’, this fits my brother;s marriage (currently getting divorced) to a fucking T….
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Say, don’t you have a holiday planned for that week?
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No, but I am planning on fumigating. Maybe she can come and stay after all.
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LOL … I sorta hope she gets a room at your inn just for all the stories. Like old times!
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You’re evil.
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Code RED! Danger Will Robinson! (A U.S. reference). Listen, if you allow this to happen, you’re going to be sorry, but it’ll make for some great blog posts.
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You’re right. I do feel lost when she’s in my space.
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WELL PLAYED!
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I’m a deer in headlights after this statement: ‘I suspect she is possessed by Azfilthyazel, the most senior of Hell’s sloth demons; answerable only to Lucifer himself.’
I say use the word ‘no’ proudly unless she is travelling with any of your children. If for no other reason, because it sounds like you could end up catching a case (going to jail) if you let Azfilthyazel into your sanctum.
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Know any good exorcists?
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Come on Kyknoord. If you’re not doing it for her, do it for us.
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What? After all I’ve done for you?
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Take out a no tresspass, that should give her the message!
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Or I could hire a bouncer!
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OR I could lend you Lulu for that fortnight?
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Sure, like you’d part with her for two weeks
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Kyk, you’ve obviously forgotten about the six foot, blonde, ex-model you’ve invited to use your spare room over the EXACT SAME fortnight! Silly Boy!
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You’re right! Lars would’ve been really pissed off if you hadn’t reminded me.
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Yeah – Kerryn beat me to it. Let out that spare room quick smart!
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I’ll start working on the ad immediately. Preferential rates to people who send me postcards.
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I was going to challenge you on the ‘worse flatmate’ thing by offering up the examples in the blog post I wrote the other week about some of my Special flatties, but after following the link I see that you are right – it doesn’t get worse than that!! My god, what a shocker – Take comfort in that Kyknoord…..
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I say we put them all in a cage and let them fight it out for the title.
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Stage a kidnapping – yours. Then move and leave no forwarding address. You need to take this seriously – once she takes possession (as in possessed by a demon) it will take extensive and expensive pest control to get over the infestation. It may even require exorcism. I can lend you a vicious attack dog to keep her at bay? How about Rosie?
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It’s kind of you to offer, but I’m not sure I’m strong enough to keep Rosie under control.
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what is the liklihood that she’ll just show up, ignore your negative response, and expect to stay there? you might want to consider a pre-emptive temporary protection order. and a bouncer. i like that. bouncers are more fun than spinners…
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It’s a strong likelihood. It’s just not cricket, if you ask me!
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Move?
Learn to play a musical instrument – sax or trumpet – this puts most people off.
Sx
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Hmmm… I do have a vuvuzela…
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Wait until she’s crossing the bridge, then strike it with your staff and destroy it. It’s the only way to stop her.
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That may not work. The staff will be on holiday in December.
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Kyk dude, sounds like you have already caved in. And didn’t you cave last time?
Back straight now, and repeat after me (loudly, in your best Samuel L Jackson voice):
“I SAID NO B%&$#!!!”
Remember. Manly voice!
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I’m not as green as I’m cabbage looking, you know.
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I’m not sure she knows how divorce works. I’m not sure she knows how a lot of things work either.
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She understands the alimony part very well.
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Hey wait a minute! I guarantee you women have as many horror stories about men form their past. In fact, I spend much of my listening to them!
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It’s a pity my ex isn’t one of your clients. She would benefit from your counselling and I would benefit from us being separated by the Atlantic Ocean.
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Shit, it’s Thursday. [how about planning a retro LAN party for that week: retro games, pizza, beer, swearing, scratching of testicular sacks, loud fragging]
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I’ll start sending out invitations immediately.
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The solution is right under your nose silly lad – send her the link to your blog – surely even she can take a hint this obvious. In fact reading the comments on this post may actually make the notion that she is not welcome at chez Kyknoord sink in. Or maybe not……?
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Maybe not. In the 2009 All Africa Thick Skin Cup, she beat the reigning champion (Gareth the Rhino) by a comfortable margin.
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~Starts scribbling on a postcard~ 😉
You’re trying to get rid of your ex-wife, and I’m desperate to become an ex-wife… but you can bet your bottom dollar I’m certainly not going to darken his doorstep once I’ve left – the less I see of him the better!
You made a mistake by staying on speaking terms… make your bed, boet, ‘cos Mrs Ex-Kyknoord is going to be lying in it! 😀
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Ah, see, that’s where you’ve gone wrong – the Flying Spaghetti Monster doesn’t listen to prayers.
He just does what he wants, with some flexibility regarding human sacrifice.
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