Last night, Mr Woog got himself organised. The kids were banished to another part of the house, he poured himself a glass of red wine and took up position on the couch in front of the television.
His favourite night. A night that he traditionally swears at the screen, sighs a lot, rolls his eyes a lot before switching off the telly then going around the house and turning every light off.
The budget was about to start when I walked past the couch and asked him.
“Do you mind if I write a post tomorrow called Mr Woog finds his G-Spot? Because you always get yourself so worked up about the budget that I think that it some be a semi-sexual experience for you…..”
He did not glance my way, but just said no.
About ten minutes later, I went back to argue my case again, and he had turned the television off, saying it was making him angry.
I likened this to a premature economic ejaculation. Wayne Swan was entirely to blame.
Later that evening I saw a tweet from a friend of mine.
So I concluded the budget would not be helpful for our family finances. And then all I could think about was bacon.