A tart named Irene

Funny how sometimes things all mush together in your head and turn up in dreams.

This how it probably happened…

A few weeks ago an old school-friend of mine had posted on Facebook that she had been busted at the bus station bopping along to that old song – “Come on Eileen”. Not really surprising because it’s a song we all used to bop to back in the day.

In addition, the book I was reading involved husbands cheating on wives.

That night I dreamed my lovely husband cheated on me with somebody called Irene. (Okay – so not quite Eileen but damn close hey?) In my dream I was totally traumatized because (a) he did not introduce me to her whilst we were at some or other function and (b) he handed her a bag containing chocolates with a sappy note (not sure how I determined this in my dream but I did). I realized with a jolt that something more was going on with this woman named Irene than just work.  She lurked in the same university and they saw each other often.

Of course when I woke up I was obviously very the hell in with my not-so-lovely husband. I thumped his arm and had a go at him for cheating on me.

Needless to say he was a tad confused.

But Gin, he pleaded, I don’t even know anybody called Irene! You are being totally ridiculous.

Later that morning we were having breakfast and I was still snippy. Emma (aka Igz) asked me what was wrong. My getting-more-unlovely-by-the-minute husband burst out laughing and told her I was miffed with him because of a silly dream.

Emma – who is often (but not always as it turns out) firmly on my side in this house full of men, was totally incredulous that I could blame Chris for something that I had dreamed.

A hilarious breakfast ensued, with me being thoroughly ridiculed from all sides.

Later that morning Chris and I were going shopping. He was in full professor-thought-mode and took off in a rather bizarre direction. In true wifely style I mouthed off that he was driving totally wrong and it would take us much longer to get there blah blah blah.

He looked at me and said with a straight face… “Irene would never talk to me like that!”

We both cracked up laughing.

Today is my lovely husband’s 51st birthday. Emma handed over her gift this morning and remarked that there was also a caramel tart named Irene waiting in the fridge for him.

I’m never going to live this down.

2 thoughts on “A tart named Irene”

  1. I can’t wait to read the rest of your book. It’s already a winner as far as I am concerned. Love the humor. P.S. My mother’s name was Irene would you believe. No problem there, she passed away 60 years ago.
    I am already working on the lyrics of the title.

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