My Husband has had a personality transplant

Thank goodness that is over for another three years. Half an hour the doctor kept me waiting and I became a little bit nervous about the important but totally undignified procedure and just waffled away. I asked about the menopause and realised that I don’t actually have any symptoms apart from mood swings and that could be just down to Ben and Charlotte winding me up.

Our new boy at work is fab and has totally changed the dynamics of the office. It is no longer a Mothers’ meeting as we have made way for some testosterone. He says that me, Margo and Janet Half Job (our office names) are moody wenches and he comes to work to get away from his wife’s rants and moans. Ha Ha and please stop taking the mickey out of my lunchtime “lie back and think of England” procedure as it won’t be long before you have to go to the doctor and have his finger stuck up your backside checking for walnuts. Well, all I can say is what a great life we live in that so many illnesses can be prevented from not very nice but essential health checks.

Benny Boy has had a personality transplant since becoming teetotal. It reminds me of a Tony Parsons’ novel that I recently enjoyed about a middle aged copper that inherited the heart of a nineteen year old Rapper. The Wife had to learn to love a completely different person. Ben is more sensible, he no longer snores, is more serious and he goes to bed very early. Maybe he doesn’t fancy me anymore?  After all, it’s the first time in around twelve years that he has seen me without his beer goggles.