Oh Darlings, the shame. Though I pride myself on being a good housewife and a rather fabulous Mummy, it must be clear to all and sundry that I make quite the most awful wife person, and having never made it down the aisle because I keep painting my toenails bright red and will insist on keeping the seams of my stockings crooked, I am sad to report that I have fallen dramatically down the scale on the 1930’s marital test. Oh yes. This is how I roll: I once ate an onion before a date and sometimes I cook in my pyjamas. So shoot me…
How do I know all this? Because I took the test again and in a rather spectacular effort, I managed to score -12 out of 100: down 34 points since I first took the test back in 2008. Clearly experience has taught me nada…
My misdemeanours are long and convoluted. Including, but not limited to…
* I can’t play a musical instrument.
* I cry, sulk and pout too much.
* I frequently fail to wash the top of the milk bottle before using it.
* I haven’t got a pleasant disposition in the mornings.
* I fail to comment on my potential husbands masculinity enough.
* My shoulder straps are always on show.
* And I frequently tell risqué and vulgar stories.
I am a disgrace. So do as I say, not as I do, won’t you, and in the meantime I will try to keep my potty mouth in check and practice washing milk bottles…
As a 1930s wife, I am