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Dear Aunty Raine,

my marriage has been somewhat shaky of late, as my husband spends so much of his time making model aeroplanes.

He hangs them from the ceiling in our house and I am always getting them caught in my hair. I got a black eye from a Lancaster bomber a couple of weeks ago. No one believed me at work.

Anyway, my husband and I got into a huge row about it last week and I ended up doing something very silly.

I had stormed into the garden and phoned my friend Stacey to have a good moan about him and she told me to pack a bag and go on a girl’s weekend to Blackpool with her and a gang of her mates.

I did just that, to teach him a lesson. But things got a bit wild.

I was drinking right from breakfast on the first day and by the afternoon I was absolutely plastered.

I went into a tattoo parlour and after I told the artist what I wanted, I passed out for 10 hours, so he really got stuck into it. I woke up to find I had the following tattooed onto my back: There is a picture of me standing in sexy leather superhero clothes, holding a hammer with a pile of smashed up aeroplanes at my feet and underneath it ‘I wish I’d married Frank instead of you, you juvenile twat’.

I am horrified by what I have done. The summer is here too, how can I keep it covered?

And what about when me and my husband make love? I like to be on all fours as it helps with my sciatica. I’m fairly certain he’ll notice the tattoo.

I’ve looked into having it removed but it takes a while and is expensive. And let’s face it, most of our spare money goes on his stupid model making.

I’ve been back home for several days now and have avoided sex, I’ve told him my knees are playing up, but I know he is starting to get very frustrated as he is playing his Barry White cds.

I have this awful rising panic inside me. What am I going to do?

Yours, fretting, Jessica, Macclesfield

Aunty Raine says:

Dear fretting Macclesfield,

I know exactly what I’d do. I’d show him the tattoo and tell him its own bastard fault.

If you do decide to call it a day and think you can’t get a divorce on the grounds of compulsive model making, then think again. A mate of mine divorced her husband after he became completely engrossed in making a ten foot long model of the Titanic out of cocktail sticks. He was so wrapped up in it that they’d been divorced for 2 years before he noticed she’d gone.

Hope that helps! Aunty Raine

Remember! Self assembly plastic toys have ruined many a good marriage!



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