Crappy TV and hormones have made me a paranoid bitch

It's quarter past ten in the evening and Babes is still not home. He phoned at six to say he was going to be late from work, then after seven again to say he was going to be really late. Something broke, he needs to fix it. Blah blah blah. I was rather proud of myself for not being sarcastic or annoying about it - I think I was even borderline supportive there. Well, except for the first time he phoned, but then that was during naptime and he woke me up. Do not poke the sleeping alligator!

The problem? I've watched too much crappy TV in my lifetime. And if Babes was a character in a crappy TV movie, he'd now be in a semi-dark office, getting a blowjob from his secretary or some really hot colleague. Or he'd be taking her out for a meal and then to a seedy motel, leading to sex and then perhaps a murder. Which he wouldn't have committed, but he'll be the prime suspect because of the sex. Obviously I don't think anyone is going to get murdered. I for one can't be tonight - if the wife gets murdered, it's always in a tidy house, and I've preventively left Playmobil pirates all over the floor. No one gets left for dead on top of a Playmobil pirate sloop. It just doesn't happen.

I don't of course think anything is going on apart from a computer problem and a lot of hard work to fix it. But... but... then the crappy TV movie scenarios flash through my mind again, and doesn't the wife always look blissfully ignorant, while she stupidly tidies the Playmobil in the living room after the children have gone to bed? And hasn't he been working late more often lately? And hasn't he been "going for meals with colleagues" more and more? And, AND, doens't he keep his phone switched off during those meals?

I shouldn't really complain at all. At least he works in computing, so the incidence and quality of the womanfolk are meagre to say the least. (I'm allowed to say that - I used to work with computers.) And yet lately I've been positively Victorian in my instincts. (Result of the pregnancy? Spent too much time at home myself? No! I blame TV!) Every time he mentions the women he works closely with, I have to force myself not to get catty. I've (arghhh) caught myself thinking it would be much easier if we went back to the days when women stayed at home and the men went out to work.

And then last week I heard an interview on the radio in which a woman biologist at the top of her field explained how in the sixties she was told that she couldn't go on a submarine research trip because she'd be stuck in a confined space with several men and this would obviously lead to some funny business. (She went anyway.) And all of a sudden it was chrystal clear what an idiot I'm being. Especially after spending several years at university and at work interacting mainly with men myself. Not a single one of whom ever got a blowjob from me in a semi-dark office. (Not in a light one or a completely dark one either, in case you were wondering.)

So now I am behaving my way to success by smiling when I get another story about some long-haired pretty bimbo at work (babysteps - the thoughts will take a little longer to squash) and being supportive when he's late because of work or some kind of social thing (which I am strangely never invited to - again, babysteps). Eventually, the smile and support will be genuine rather than forced and I will be back in my right mind again. Even though it probably won't be until I'm less fat and immobile, and maybe not even until I'm back at work myself, surrounded by all the handsome men who will no doubt be working alongside me.