Had a mate back in the day, and he invited me and another mate over to the flat that he'd just shacked up into with his new girlfriend. It was a tiny place, made even more so by the presence of a spoddy lad in a Marillion t-shirt, who skulked about in the kitchen for a while and grunted to himself before going back into his box room.
On our way back to the last bus, me and Other Mate were delivering our reports on his new situation, when I said; "Who's the lodger, then? He's a right moody fucker."
"Well, wouldn't you be, mate? He's her ex."
"What?"
"Yeah. She told him she'd been nobbing a new bloke, and he was welcome to stay, but she was moving him in and he'd have to take the spare room."
"So when's he moving out?"
"He's not. They've been like that for six months already."
Now, if he'd have been a friend, I would have put him straight; if any girlfriend of mine told me that not only been she been knocking off someone else behind my back, but she wanted to move said bloke to live with us, I would have said "No problem. After I've murdered the fucker and buried him under our patio, I'll leave out a fucking deckchair for you." I mean, if a relationship has died on its arse, what you don't do - even if it was you who instigated the break-up - is stick around to watch your partner's new relationship develop.
Which brings us to the case of
Charles Judy. Jesus in a jumpsuit, I thought Marillion T-Shirt-Wearing Spod-Cuckold was the King of Wrongness, but this lad takes the biscuit, if not the entire packet. Still hanging round with his ex-wife? No, mate. Going on a date with her to see her new knock-off?
No, mate. Allowing her to drive your car when she's banned from driving (and in any case, your car is too knackered for the road)?
No, mate. Having no problem with her shaving her flange in the driving seat while you steer from the passenger side?
NO, MATE.
Obviously we don't know the whole story - perhaps he was so desperate to get shot of his ex that he'd do anything to drop her into the lap of the first bloke who showed the slightest bit of interest - but you don't want to see your ex's genitals. Particularly when they're dropping pubes on the floor of your car, because they're a bastard to pick up.
So, dear TT readers, today's question is; a) have you ever experienced an example of extreme doormattitude from an acquaintance of yours, and b) what relaxation techniques have you deployed in order to stop yourself from slapping the shit out of them?
(oh, and c): how in the name of God did she manage to keep her hand still whilst defoliating her lady-garden in a moving car? Is this a skill that all women can pull off?)
