In this morning's rant I said we'd prolly be with Steve's family for 6 hours but we were actually there for 4 today, which is the same length of time that Steve's seen my family since the start of July 2010 because he didn't come to the funeral with me for support, he just went to the pub for the free food and drink for 2 hours afterwards, then we saw my mum again on 17th August 2010 for a couple of hours and haven't seen her since.
We've got the spread again now though, so surely I'll be able to have food again for the first time in 3 days, right?
Wrong.
Yet again Steve wants me to survive on 10 biscuits a day 'cos his fucking cake is more important than me putting on weight like the nurse at my GP surgery has been telling me to do since September 2020 and if I haven't put on enough weight by the time I go and see her in May, she'll be referring me to a Dietician at the hospital for investigations into why I can't put on enough weight. That'll be my fault too, despite living on bread and spread to send my calorie count through the roof.
I've had about as much as I can take of Steve recently.
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