After that unpleasant episode we moved on to other household topics that normally wouldn't merit discussion and managed to disagree on which side of the sink the wet plates should be stacked on, how often dish towels should be re-used, why we had run out of tea bags and the firm favorite - the correct temperature setting for the AC.

Considering that we both live and work together we get along AMAZINGLY well which I believe in part has been due to an early agreement that he is the boss at work and I am the boss at home. However after he had strayed into my territory and felt entitled to air his views on my appliances I felt COMPLETELY justified when I walked into his office and noticed the following errors on the rendering he was working on:

"The rug is too big and the chandelier is too small."As you can imagine this did not go down very well although he did begrudgingly make the changes.

The whole situation was very distressing, normally we spend most of our time poking fun at each other and laughing so I decided to confront him with the suggestion that he was turning into a CANTANKEROUS OLD BASTARD to which he responded that I was turning into a MISERABLE OLD WITCH. 

Things reached a crescendo last Wednesday night when he was packing for his trip to Hong Kong. I should have known it was coming when he started wildly flinging things out of the laundry basket and stomping round the house muttering under his breath. Sure enough within minutes he appeared at the foot of our bed (where I was trying to sleep) and accused Genius (who went back to college last week) of taking all his underwear. At that point I just exploded, pointing out that Genius has NO interest in Mufasa's underwear (which is black and from JC Penny) as he has his OWN underwear (which is RED and from Urban Outfitters.) As the argument reached a crescendo I desperately dialed Genius who fortunately didn't pick up and thus unknowingly spared himself from becoming embroiled in an ugly scenario with two completely crazy parents.

Unable to prove myself correct I stomped off to the guest bedroom in total disgust and lay there sulking until the Cantankerous Old Bastard finally softened and came in to make up with me. We then made a pact NOT to argue any more about stupid stuff and to go back to being KIND to each other. 

The new order has been super easy to adhere to as my husband got on a plane the following day and we are now in the throes of Lovey-Dovey-Missing-You e-mails. Nothing like a few thousand miles of separation to repair a relationship. Let's see how long it lasts once we are reunited in an eight hundred square foot apartment in Hong Kong for six weeks.

I'm not sure if I am which is a shame because tomorrow is my fiftieth birthday. As of this moment I am still a forty-something, which just sounds SO, SO much younger than fifty. To be honest I've been dreading this birthday for at least five years which is ridiculous because as anyone (younger than you) will proclaim "It's just a number." Secretly they are dreading their OWN fiftieth birthdays but take major comfort from the fact that you got there first. 

However, I recently encountered someone who inspired me to change my approach. I met Pollyanna on our cruise to Hawaii, she is cute as pie, has a ray of sunshine personality and a positive attitude to life. She will also be turning fifty this year, but when I asked her how she felt about the impending disaster (expecting some shared commiseration and sisterly bonding chats about wrinkles and hemorrhoids) she shocked me by responding that she was INCREDIBLY excited about the Big Event and had NEVER looked forward to a birthday so much in her WHOLE life! WOW, that certainly made me think that perhaps the only thing wrong about my turning fifty was my attitude.

Meanwhile all the plans I made for my birthday have evaporated in a cloud of dust (or rather a shroud of bugs) My Dearest Darling has had a week of kidney stones followed by three days of flu forcing me to cancel both our Atlanta weekend AND my champagne birthday brunch. Fortunately my brother sent me a Nordstrom gift card with an insane amount of money on it so I have been out all morning walking round the store with a HUGE grin on my face and a bolshy attitude ie. Don't judge me by my sweaty gym clothes I can afford ANYTHING I want in this store. Nothing like a bit of retail therapy to beat the (50th) birthday blues.

This birthday is certainly a milestone and a reminder that my time here is not eternal so I had better make the most of it. So my fiftieth year resolution is Carpe Diem. After all I may not look fifty and I certainly don't feel fifty but by golly I AM FIFTY.

After the most hideous night of running up and down stairs every fifteen minutes to microwave heat packs and literally getting two hours sleep I was only too happy to decamp to the ER and let the professionals deal with the situation. Little did I know that the fun was only just beginning. This is what I have learned:

1. Don't even consider going to the emergency room unless you dial 911. The huge fee you will pay for the ambulance is well worth it to avoid the FOUR PLUS hour wait you will otherwise incur.

2. When you are finally called into Triage and asked what your pain level is (on a scale of one to ten) the answer is TEN! (or eleven.) Of course only a MAN who has kept his wife awake ALL night because his pain level is OFF the richter scale would then put on a brave face and answer "FIVE" thereby demoting himself to a class of non-urgent cases and a further two hour wait.

3. Once your case has been allocated to the bottom of the pile severe worsening of your symptoms including vomiting with blood will NOT elicit any sympathy from the medical staff or get you in front of a doctor any quicker which is why the ER waiting room is full of people writhing in agony and shouting at anyone who will listen.

4. If you have no medical insurance and are only in the ER to avoid paying a dentist to deal with your toothache then obviously you do know the system inside out and correctly answered 'ten' at the triage stage in which case you will be seen ahead of that poor bastard with (clearly undiagnosed) acute appendicitis.

Fast forward five days and thanks to the help of some powerful narcotics (which no doubt are highly addictive BUT WHO THE HELL CARES?) My husband is now fully recovered and back at work. He arrived at the office yesterday all clean-shaven and smiles, happy to tell his war story to everyone and I heard him announce  "Oh yes it was ABSOLUTELY awful, Kidney stones are more painful than labor!" 

WHAT? IS HE CRAZY? MORE PAINFUL THAN LABOR? I DON'T THINK SO. Only a man who will NEVER have to push out something the size of a BOWLING BALL through a very small hole would tell a room full of women (who have already done that SEVERAL times) that the pain of excreting something the size of a grain of rice through a slightly smaller hole was MUCH WORSE. I'm surprised he wasn't lynched on the spot but I guess allowances were made for the effect that the powerful narcotics have had on his brain. In addition women are such GOOD patients and rarely complain when sick or in pain, they save their energy for nurturing their men.

This past week after a few seasonal spats my husband and I agreed that we were a team and therefore we would subdivide the chores each morning in the true spirit of co-operation and in the interest of maintaining harmony in the home. What I did not realize was that he now thought we were on a level playing field and that his little culinary improvement suggestions would be welcomed. I'm not quite sure how this completely DELUSIONAL state of mind developed but it was guaranteed to piss me off. Seriously this is a man who has no business in the kitchen except for washing my dishes. I am not prepared to reconsider my position until he has completed a year long residential Cordon Bleu course preferably in Paris. In the twenty-five years we have been together the only time he has cooked anything resembling a meal is when I have been out of the country and the boys got sick of take-outs. Apparently on one such occasion (in the middle of a boiling summer) he cooked an ENTIRE Christmas lunch, turkey, roast potatoes etc. and invited all the boys friends over to share it. I know that this meal was produced in the spirit of rebellion and in part to taunt me as I flat out refuse to make turkey at any time other than Thanksgiving and Christmas and he would dearly love to eat it at least once a month. It's amazing how whenever the subject of his cooking skills (or lack thereof) comes up, this story gets wheeled out and the boys get all misty-eyed about Dad's Michelin five-star achievement yet I have cooked (a SUPERIOR) version of this same meal at least FIFTY times and no-one thinks it's a big deal.

Fortunately I still have a sense of humor so we are able to laugh ourselves silly over all these incidents. We spent the rest of the year watching stand-up comedians and so thanks to Michael McIntyre Bill Burr and Rohd Gilbert I was able to welcome in 2012 in a state of great joy. Laughter really IS the best medicine for most situations including acute indigestion and family spats.

Happy New Year.

Not a creature was sleeping except for MY SPOUSE.

The stockings needed stuffing but he didn't care

He was peacefully resting, it seemed so unfair.

I had baked and I'd Roasted, my fingers burned red.

While visions of pinching him danced in my head.

Replete from the dinner and triple nightcap

He had settled right down for his long Winter's nap.

When back in the kitchen there arose such a clatter

I thought he'd jump up and ask "what was the matter?"

But nothing could wake him, no flood, fire or flash

No soft muttered curses or glasses I'd smash.

I banged every saucepan and made SUCH a noise

but got no attention from him or the boys.

Then what to my wondering eyes should appear?

But a bottle of sherry from Christmas last year.

Without really thinking, I opened it quick

And knocked back four glasses which made me feel sick.

Now even MORE bolshy  and tired of this game

I whistled, and shouted, I called out his name!

"NOW DARLING PLEASE WAKE UP! MOVE YOUR BUTT TO THE KITCHEN!"

"WAKE Poppet! WAKE Stupid! So I can stop bitching"

"Our floors all need mopping, before friends come to call

PLEASE wash away! Wash away! Wash away ALL!"

As most overwhelmed wives, will for sure testify

When they meet such an obstacle, they need a good cry.

So up to the bedroom, for sulking I flew

And lay there a sniffling as resentment just grew.

But then from below, I thought I could hear

The crunching of nuts and the swilling of BEER!

I leaped from the bed, some new energy found

Down the staircase in fury I came with a bound.

He was all wet and soapy, from his chest to his knee

But the sight of him working, just filled me with GLEE!

A ragged old tea towel, slung over his back

Dishes rinsed, dried and placed in a sparkling clean stack!

His eyes how they twinkled, his demeanor quite merry

His cheeks were like roses, as he knocked back MY sherry!

The oven was gleaming, the food put away

The place looked quite perfect, so what could I say?

A nice plate of snacks had been laid out for me

My favorite crackers and a ripe wheel of brie.

When I saw what had happened, I was shocked to my belly

He was no longer sleeping in front of the Telly!

In my frilly green apron he looked like an elf

And I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself!

A wink of his eye and this man that I wed

Let me know that he loved me though nothing was said.

He spoke not a word, but went back to his work

Of proving forever he's not such a jerk.

And laying his finger aside of his nose

He rolled up his sleeves, to the challenge he rose!

He sprang back into action and got down to his cleaning

Every pot got a scrubbing, Every surface was gleaming.

And he heard me exclaim as I slunk out of sight

Happy Christmas my Darling and thanks for tonight!

This is the list of things I need to do in the next 48 hours:

1. Gift shopping

2. Gift Wrapping

3. Fill Xmas stockings

4. Food Shopping

5. Food Preparation

6. Laundry (tons)

7. House cleaning

8. Prepare guest bedrooms for arrival of friends

9. Bake mince pies for office

10. Bake Peanut blossoms for Rockstar & Genius

11. Fight with RTG about missing sofa cushions

12. Get repair completed on broken fridge (which would be better if done before # 4.)

13. Order dog food (of course Blew is allergic to anything you can buy in a store and requires a super expensive unique brand available only from Mars.)

14. Order coffee (of course Husband is apposed to anything you can buy in a store and requires a super expensive unique brand available only from Jupiter.)

15. Do the finances (AGAIN! To see if the cash can be stretched a little further - which would be better if done before # 1.)

16. Get repair completed on broken marriage (crumbling under the strain of #'s 1 through 15 and would be better if done before Dec. 25th)

17. Morph myself from bedraggled Cinderella into glamorous Domestic Goddess ready to welcome the boys home on Friday looking relaxed and serene and like all of the above required absolutely no effort.

IT'S THE MOST WEARISOME TIME OF THE YEAR

It’s the most wearisome time of the year

With the kids really yelling

And everyone telling you “Be of good cheer”

It’s the most wearisome time of the year

It’s the crap-crappiest season of all

With carols repeating and much overeating

When friends come to call

It’s the crap-crappiest season of all

You’ll be way overspending

The lines never-ending

As off to the mall you must go

There’ll be Dad’s boring Stories

Reliving his glories of

Christmases long, long ago.

It’s the most wearisome time of the year.

There’ll be liberty taking

And hearts will be breaking

When loved ones don’t show

It’s the most wearisome time of the year

There'll be many Mom's snapping

As Dad's are caught napping

And they are left running the show

There'll be much loot shop-lifted

And presents re-gifted 

From Christmases long, long ago

It's the most wearisome time of the year

There'll be excessive bingeing

And plenty of whinging

From loved ones, I fear

It's the most wearisome time

It's the most wearisome time

It's the most wearisome time................ of the year

My son knows me so well which is clearly why he sold the whole moving out idea to me in several parts waiting until I had absorbed and accepted each concept before introducing another significant piece of information. It was like being part of a mini-series docu-drama. Consequently it was only in episode four that I found out that the location of the new pad was in the GHETTO. There had to be a reason that the rent on a three bed/ four bath townhouse in Wellington was SO affordable and now I know why - the house is in a development that has a VERY bad reputation for crime and vandalism. Rockstar quickly averted my inevitable meltdown by pointing out that he could easily be living in LA or New York and that he has already survived touring the entire US sleeping in dodgy motels and Walmart parking lots so a little bit of rough five miles down the road from our gated bubble was hardly something I should be losing sleep over. 

Despite the fact that there have been three cars loaded to the gills going back and forwards from our house for the last two days there is still enough Rockstar paraphernalia here to furnish a small mansion. The exodus from Egypt was less complicated and I can see that unless I start packing a few boxes myself I am going to be left with a pile of crap that he doesn't actually want but that I am not allowed to throw away. So later today I will move the remaining contents of two rooms into the garage where no doubt they will sit for several months until my husband gets fed up of looking at them and musters up the energy and courage to deliver them to The Modern Family residence @ The Hood.

No, that is not a typo or a sick joke they are SERIOUSLY going to be offering porn movies on their 'cheap' charter flights. They have delivered this alarming piece of news in the casual manner that one would expect to be informed that they will be giving out free popcorn. Although nothing is actually free on Ryan Air who also dreamt up the pay-to-use toilet. 

Apparently they think that this latest OUTRAGEOUS affront will not really offend anyone because they won't be broadcasting it on the headrest screens but transmitting it directly to passengers (smart ass) phones. The customers will also be provided with blankets to put over their heads and bodies while they ..........well let's not go there. I am still in a state of TOTAL shock that this could be allowed; obviously I will NEVER fly with Ryan Air again. I can barely tolerate the (usually smelly) person next to me eating fast food or taking off their shoes. Currently the worst case scenario is being stuck next to some moron who is determined to get drunk and then bore everyone to death with three hours of belligerence. Now we can all look back on THAT sort of behavior with an air of nostalgia as we are confronted with this new all time low. What has happened to Great Britain? The country seems determined to portray itself to the rest of the world as a nation of foulmouthed, badly dressed, YOBS. 

I suspect that Ryan Air recently got rid of their fifty-something CEO and hired some whizz kid straight out of college, you know the type? Full of bright new ideas born from an upbringing and education with no moral standards WHATSOEVER. Call me old fashioned but sitting next to some sweet old lady doing her knitting is all the in-flight excitement I need. 

Actually I am surprised that Ryan Air were able to pull this off without serious concerns from airline security. It seems to me that this might be an ideal reason for terrorists to blow up a plane. Not that losing a hundred or so people who can't live without porn for three hours of their pathetic lives would be such a terrible thing.

So the airline that have always had a reputation for cheap tickets will now have a reputation for cheap thrills. Can't see this being a huge success so my advice (for what it's worth) to shareholders? SELL NOW.

Adding to my morbid reflections, I just overheard the flight attendant telling a story about a passenger who mixed Ambien with alcohol and then tried to open the emergency exit while the plane was airborne. (So now the circle of trust extends to the other 300 people on this flight.) I will recline my seat and visualize the pilot as someone middle aged and solid with a VERY happy marriage and three beautiful children. If in fact he had a terrible argument this morning with his ex about alimony I DO NOT WANT TO KNOW ABOUT IT. Fortunately since all his announcements relate to our altitude and the weather conditions I am not likely to find out. I sincerely hope the air traffic controller at Newark is completely focused on his task today and not distracted by thoughts of his recent lottery win and how he will spend his millions.

The point is, who of us (in all honesty) can say that our personal lives do not encroach into our working ones? Yet usually we do not have the opportunity or the right to ask personal questions of those who could affect our VERY existence. I think it is entirely reasonable to enquire of the dentist BEFORE he does your wisdom tooth extraction, whether he is suicidal about the fact that his boyfriend is cheating on him? Don't you want to know if the guy doing your tire change has just about HAD IT with living at home with his parents? If HE doesn't tighten those nuts properly this day might be YOUR last.

I am INCREDIBLY grateful for the good and competent work done by ALL those that cross my path. Whenever I am on a flight that lands safely I feel like running down the isle and showering the pilot with kisses. I always tip far too much in taxis in simple gratitude of a journey safely completed. Ditto in restaurants although of course I will not find out till several hours later if I have food poisoning. Taxis are great because you can chat all you like to the driver and if you discover something sinister you can bail out at the lights, whereas you don't often get to meet a chef and it might seem odd to your fellow diners if you were to enquire about his emotional state while he is reciting the ingredients of the veal cordon bleu. 

Everyone's job matters but some matter more. If MY life is in THEIR hands then I think it matters quite a lot. Now please excuse me as there is someone I need to hug - we just landed safely at Newark.