Sunday, 2 January 2011

Waiting for the Bus

I hate him so much, so much. I'll throw myself under a bus, yes a bus. The next one that comes along and I'm under it. That'll show him. Show him how much I hate him. Serve him right for not treating me proper. Show him good. Good and proper.

Hell, he's given me ear ache all night. First the idiot's late. Keeps me all standing around. Right in the centre of town. Then he don't want to do this and won't do that. Then why did he come? Why did the idiot come? All he wants to do is drink. Don't want the cinema. Won't go on to a club. Doesn't like dancing. Hates dancing. We just goes to a pub and drink. Not much of a night out for me. I wanted a nice night out, have a bit of fun, bit of a dance, a laugh. He's no fun any more. Just me and him stuck in a grim pub. It's no fun.

Then when we's drinking all he does is moan. All night I had it. Moan, moan, moan. Don't like my family. Don't like this, don't like that. Hates his job. I tell him: get another one, but he just moans. Hates my mother, well she hates him, she hates him good an proper, and he deserves it. Says I should give him up. I know she's right, have to in the end, but I don't want to give her the pleasure. Then I'd be getting all told-you-sos. I hate my mother when she does that. Then he wants us to move in together. Move in together! Not likely, not when he moans like that. Then he's all mopey because I'm not sure. Not sure! I ain't doing it. Not when he's all mopey.

Where's that bus. It's supposed to be here. I've had enough for one night. Enough of him and everything. And it's starting to rain. Not heavy like, just drizzle like. I hate rain. It'd be wet under that bus. And I ain't getting wet for no one. Especially not him. Got these new jeans, latest thing, nice, cost plenty, designer, and I ain't ruining them. Not for no one. And not for him. I'm fed up, right fed up.

He was alright when we first got together. All attentive like. He was fun. Then he wasn't late, he was first in the queue. Now he's turned a right misery. Don't go out with our friends like we used. Now it's just us stuck on our own. He get me all... don't know the word. But he gets me mad as hell.

And it's really raining now. Proper chucking it down. And this shelter's no good. Why didn't we wait at a proper shelter? He's mean, so we have to walk to the next stop. Not wait at a proper shelter. Just us two stuck here, getting soaked, not talking.

At last here's that bus. Shall I? Shall I show him? He's not even looking. I'm standing right on the edge of the pavement and he's not even looking. Why doesn't he look at me? Hell that was a bit close. Did not like that.

I hate this bus. Sprayed me all over it did. Driving like that all though the wet. My new jeans, best coat, all wet, gunky. Take me ages to clean 'um up when I's get home. I hate this bus. It's grim up here on the top deck. All empty and him just mopey.

At least the rain's starting to clear. And him sitting there all grumpy and silent like. Not talking to me. Why can't he talk to me proper like. I hate it when he ignores me.

Sullen bastard I'll show him. Next time out I'll show him. Not that there'll be a next time. But I'll do it next time. Under the bus that is, next time. That'll show him. Good and proper.

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