GALAH’S
AGONY AUNT
Dear Aunty Maude, There are mice in my walls. Or maybe rats. Vermin of some variety. They scurry like mad in there at night, scratching away, and recently they’ve started having such parties they wake the baby. My husband is ready to burn the house down. The issue is, I’m vegan. So I ask you, do rodents count? With love, Sleepless due to squeaking
Dear Sleepless Vegan, The first thought that pops to mind is, ‘Oh, your poor husband’. Of course he wants to burn the house down. A house full of rats (maybe mice), a screaming kid and a vegan—who could blame him? But then I wonder if he’s even there. Is he down the pub with his mates? Often? Eating steak? I understand why you wouldn’t want to tell me that. I never had that problem with my Jim, but I see it happening to women all around me. Betsy’s Fred came home after one of his long walks, smelling of Twisties—always Twisties—and announced that he needed to find himself. Unlike every other time Fred needed to find something (clean underwear, false teeth, remote control), Betsy was declared surplus to requirements in this particular search. I warned her that she needed to work on the atmosphere in the home, I told her she had to help him find things, but she didn’t listen. She didn’t even pack his bags for him when he left for good. Goodness knows what poor Fred has by way of matching socks. Imagine if he gets asked out to dinner? So that’s what Betsy got. And that’s why you’ve got the vermin. Sleepless, you’ve got to mobilise. Stop lounging about flicking through the fabulously photographed, tear-stained pages of Galah and inject a bit of atmosphere into your domestic sphere. Set up a nursery for the baby in the garage, preferably your in-laws’ garage. Fry some steak, even just for scent, call your man and say, ‘Honey, it’s time to come home.’
