Tin foil

The other night I wrapped my entire head in tin foil just to spite my wife; to show her who wears the trousers if you will.  That’d learn her. This backfired on me somewhat as I felt very, very sick for the rest of the evening. Bleurgh. I don’t know if I have a Bacofoil allergy or not; or whether de-illness was purely a coinky-dinky? T ‘either way, I will not be wrapping my shoebox in tin foil again –  fo shizzle dizzle.

It all came about because of this….

foil warning

I discovered this rather RUDE note, all unexpected and watnot, as I unassumingly went about my morning egg routine. I was affronted to say the least. And I said as much. To the cat.

I would later discover (via a text) that my wife, requiring some tin foil on just the other day (probably to burn crack) had opened the kitchen drawer and become immediately ENRAGED; thus alleging that the last person to use it (ahem) appeared to have done so when blind drunk?

I have absolutely no recollection of interacting with any tin foil recently and thus her accusation could very well be accurate? This is a worry. I may have a drinking problem? But that is for another day…..

Wifey recounts vividly that the small silver roll, purchased all pristine from Aldi at the great cost of tuppence, now looked as though it’d been used to repeatedly penetrate a scrabbling hedgehog; before battering its spiky ass to death. Twice.

The problem with all this, as my wife has since discovered is that I DO NOT GIVE A SHIT ABOUT TIN FOIL.  Any tin foil. EVER.

Nor, as it happens,  do I respond well to threats. Or lines drawn in the sand.   I am not to be trifled with m’kay? If pushed into a corner I should warn you, I come out flailing my arms around like a big baby.  There is no end to my immaturity.  NO END.  It is  boundless. Hence THIS:

foil 2

Yeah that’s right.  I wrapped up my very own swede in c tin foil and posted the photo on Facebook, to show off.  IN YOUR FACE WIFEY. Just who do you think you are? Offering me out like a big man via a discrete paper towel note in the second drawer down.

Who’s laughing now?  Huh? HUH? I’ll tell you who, ME, that’s who!  It’s just that you can’t tell, because my head is wrapped up in tin foil. But I can assure you, I am laughing my ass off; all double wrapped for freshness.

Now loyal MIHP reader, please do not underestimate the total level of commitment required to wrap your own head in tin foil, because it’s not just that is it? That would be easy peasy. Come on, study the photograph.  You actually have to: wrap up your own head, find your glasses, put them on, find your phone, and take a photo of yourself, in focus.  If you have never tried doing this (what have you been doing with your life?)  you CANNOT appreciate just how long takes.  I can confirm now for you,  that it takes about a ******** hour.

It’s REALLY hard. Don’t just sit there. Try it. Go on. Wrap your head up in foil. Try and find your glasses. Take off the tin foil, find your glasses, put them ‘ready’ on your knee, and then wrap your head up again (about 50 times).  Find your phone. Try to pick it up without touching the screen and knocking the ******* camera off (about 30 times).  Then try touching your screen in just the right place to take the photo and not to switch the video on (about 25 times). Try taking an in-focus shot of your own encased head.  Then take your tinfoil off, realise it’s not ********* worked, and you’ve either taken a photograph of your chest or the ceiling,  swear very intently, AND THEN START ALL OVER AGAIN.

CHEESE AND CRACKERS WHAT A MOTHER STICKER OF A JOB.

If you do try it, you may find, about 15 minutes in, that you start to get headache. This is perfectly normal. Power through dear Padawan, Power through. This is just the beginning. The road ahead is long and rocky.

About 30 minutes in, you will probably start to feel sick and dizzy, and your headache will be much, much worse. Like the beginnings of a throbbing tumour. Not long now.  Don’t give up.  The glory will be worth it.  All for one and one for all.

At 45 minutes you will be furious with yourself. ABSOLUTELY ********* FURIOUS with yourself. This is no way for a forty-one year old man to behave for Christ’s sake.  You are supposed to be making dinner. Your heavily pregnant wife is upstairs bathing your children and reading stories, like a proper adult.  You are downstairs trying to get a good photograph of your own cranium wrapped in tin foil.  You are a massive nobhead.  WHAT ARE YOU DOING? Seriously this is weird.

At 60 minutes you will definitely feel like you are very close to death and you will definitely want to stop. But your OCD need for perfection will disallow you from doing so. You will feel trapped in your own personal hell. You will RUE the day you ever became dependent on the amusement of others.  You will blame your parents for allowing you to covet the role of Class Clown.  You will vilify your teachers for not being able to dampen your spirit or your ability to make people laugh. You will question your very existence. What have you amounted to? What have you become? What is the point?

But, and it’s a BIG but. you will know in your heart of hearts, that if you stop now, you will be nothing more than a MENTAL PERSON. You will have just spent over an hour of your life, with your head wrapped in Bacofoil, with NOTHING to show for it. This will be unacceptable you.  And you will solider on. Nothing can stop you now. NOTHING.  You will get the photo, or you will asphyxiate trying. WORD.

And then, with blurred vision and retching at the feel of metal on your skin; with a putrid metallic taste in your mouth and utter despair in your heart, finally, you will take the money shot. THANK **** FOR THAT.  You will quickly, and with a real sense of disillusionment, upload the photo to Facebook. You  will lay down on the lounge floor. You will close your eyes and feel wretched.

You will feel the Reaper’s icy gaze.  You will recall only then, reading about a famous murderer who killed his victims by wrapping their heads in tin foil to suffocate them.  SHIT IT. For ten or fifteen hypochondriac minutes, you will wonder if you have just committed an unwitting suicide? You will  Google  ‘can I die after wrapping my head in tin foil?’.  The results will be inconclusive.

And then you will be distracted from your slow and painful death by the sound of your wife hysterically laughing upstairs.  You  will know she’s found the photograph on Facebook. You will listen to her laugh and laugh AND LAUGH. And you will smile. You will feel better. Instantly.  It will all be worth it. You are victorious once more. You did that.  Listen to it.  You fell in love with her laugh ten years ago, and you still need to hear it to survive.

You will slope off to make dinner like the needy little humour junky that you are.

You really are pathetic. Grow up.

© 2014 Man in his pyjamas. All rights reserved.  www.maninhispyjamas.com

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