It is a rare thing to realise that you are spoilt. Take, for instance, the children you can see are spoilt by their parent/guardian/wolf family. We shake our heads, we might even tut and utter the words that are not meant as a compliment. That child, we say in hushed tones, is spoilt and no good will come of it. Whether the child is actually spoilt or not, we don’t know…it is something we say. It is a terrible thing to pass judgement on other people but we do it. I do it. There, I said it. I’m not proud of it. I have been a nanny to said spoilt children and I have no idea how they have turned out but at the time I would say it often when not in their company. And certainly not in earshot of their parents – I’m stupid, not insane.
So, with this in mind, why then am I willingly and indeed thrillingly declaring to all and sundry that I am spoilt? Give me a couple of minutes and I’ll tell you. Feel free to just agree with me now and switch of whatever medium you are using to read this. Nod, agree, declare that no good will come of this and go and do something else. Or, stick around and have a good laugh
at with me.
Picture the scene: Sunday evening. I am still in my pyjamas (horrible headache/threatening migraine earlier) and sitting on the sofa reading Miranda Hart. Tom, having been for a 15 mile training run this morning, sticks his head around the dividing wall from the kitchen into the living room and asks “Pie or stew”. He then, after making the decision, proceeds to fling the assorted jumpers that I have managed to accumulated throughout the week to the other sofa, clears up all my crafty shit, sets the table and makes me a cup of tea. In my favourite cup.
I should probably back track a bit. I don’t spend all weekend in my jamas as rule, although occasionally it happens and when it does, it is fab. Much needed and appreciated. I’ve had a bit of a rubbish weekend, in bodily terms. Chaps, sorry for the over sharing but as I have said before, I say it how it is on here. Horrendous period pain yesterday which resulted in me lying on the sofa panting in pain, drugged up to the eyeballs, with a hot water bottle and a blanket until I fell asleep for 2 hours. While Tom was generally awesome, looked after me and made sure I had what I needed. He then went on to make lemon cupcakes and flapjack. There is no end to this man’s talents.
Back to today and the realisation that I am a spoilt witch who has been ruined for all others (and I am absolutely fine about that). I’ll make a wee list of how I am spoilt – feel free to add to it or not…the choice is yours.
- I rarely have to cook. I think in the 18 months we have been together, I have cooked approximately a dozen times (excluding cake). It isn’t that I can’t or that I don’t want to. It is simply that Tom is better at it and enjoys it. His food is awesome.
- He does most of the laundry. Again, I can and do, but he has a better system and somehow, he folds clothes better than me.
- Outside stuff – sweeping, hacking up the Christmas tree, hosing off etc. I can. He does.
- General looking after me. This is starting to sound a bit like a 1950’s housewife spiel but bear with me.
- He brings me tea in bed
- Makes sure I take my antidepressant each night
- Listens to me when I have one of many meltdowns
- Reads me a story to get me to sleep on nights where I am particularly stressed out.
- Drives in the dark because my night vision is rubbish
- Lets me crash out on the sofa at random points and covers me up with a blanket
- Last but not least (and I’m only including this AFTER a small discussion) he has made me appreciate sex in a whole new way…and I am spoilt in there too.
Now, I’m aware that this sounds like he is being a generally nice chap and an excellent human being and pretty awesome boyfriend. He is all of these things, and more besides. But I honestly believe I am spoilt in every way possible and I love it. I try not to take him for granted and I realise I am not the easiest person to live with. *really? you? Not easy to live with? I hear you gasp, in a sarcastic tone. Yes, really. I am not a picnic. Now hush*
Tom makes me feel brilliant even when I’m being a brat. It sounds corny and cliché to say that his spoiling me is making me be a nicer person but it does make me appreciate what I have with him that I didn’t feel worthy of BT (before Tom). Unquestioning love and support – and I can only hope that I can give that back in spades.