Biscuits

It was a lovely sunny Sunday morning.  The Tuis were singing in the Kowhai trees at the back and side of the house, and flitting between the Flax plants at the front.  Butterflies were drifting over the (rather unkempt) lawns.  I was on the computer which sits in a corner of the wee room we laughingly call our TV lounge or the snug.

Every morning I awaken before my beloved.  I need to get up at 5:30 on weekdays to get into school in time, and the habit carries over into the weekends, so even though I didn't NEED to get up at 5:30 on Sunday, I still woke automatically, and I knew I wouldn't be getting back to sleep. 
As I always did, I gave my beloved's gently drooling (and slightly snoring) visage a kindly look and got out of bed.  I have found through long and bitter experience NOT to deposit a gentle and loving kiss onto my beloved's visage at 5:30 in the morning, as this causes her to wake up, and as she DOESN'T need to get up so early, this makes her ANNOYED and prone to make tetchy yet light-hearted threats to my person.  So I get up quietly, smile at her and go through to the snug and switch on the computer.  I also make myself a cup of instant coffee, and I sit quietly, exploring cyberspace, checking my emails, looking at the news and of course checking all of my favourite blogs.

It's quite a nice established routine, and it seems to suit everyone.  It gives me something to do while I'm awake very early, and it lets my beloved sleep in peace.

At least it seemed to suit everyone, but this morning became a little different.

As usual on a Sunday, my beloved gets up around 8:30 to have breakfast with me, and to get ready to go to her church.  And as usual, as I sense her presence (we've been married for 34 years, and my nervous system is peculiarly intertwined with hers, so of course I can sense her presence.  Besides, I always hear the toilet flush), I get off the computer and go into the kitchen to make our breakfast.

This morning, however, my finely tunes senses picked up warning signals emanating from my beloved.

• The rigid shoulders
• The expressionless visage
• The slightly flaring nostrils
• The white knuckled grip on her butter knife
• The monosyllabic answers to my simple expressions of love and devotion.

Not a happy lady

As every bloke does in situations like this, I examined my person and my conscience,

Was my fly open?
Had I just farted?
Was I scratching in an offensive area/manner?
Was I home late last night?
Was I drunk last night?
Did I insult one of her friends?
Did I forget to put out the rubbish?
Did I forget to wash and dry the dishes?
Did I forget to do the ironing?
Did I forget to put the iron away?
Did I forget to fold and put away the dried washing?

Nope.  Everything that should have been done had been done. I was wearing a dressing gown, and nothing was showing or had fallen out. No noxious gases had escaped from my vicinity. (well not in the last ½ hour) and I wasn't scratching anything.

I did what the years of experience had taught me.
Nothing.

Do not ask what you have done wrong.  You might get an answer. Or even worse, you might get the question thrust back at you. e.g.  "Don't you know?"
Or even worse, we might start a discussion on the state of our relationship, and /or the duration/frequency/quality of our sex life.  Again.
But such a discussion would be out of character at such a time of the day.  In my experience, our lovely ladies much prefer to start such a discussion when we are at our most vulnerable, in that lovely time just before sleep.  When your body is starting to go limp, completely relaxed, just before the delightful plunge into the deep, dark, warm world of sleep.  That is when they pounce start the discussion.

It soon transpired that the problem was me.
(Quell surprise. I had done something wrong?  Again?)

I had been on the computer in my dressing gown.

OH SHIT  The machine of the devil was back.
OBVIOUSLY the computer was the instrument of disruption.

I tried the usual arguments.
It was no different from reading a book.
It was no different from watching TV
It was a damn sight better than sitting there in the darkness doing absolutely nothing.
Nobody else was up, so what was the problem?


As usual, we came to a compromise. (we do love each other very much.  Mostly)
The compromise was that I wouldn't sit at the computer in my dressing gown.
See.
Simple.
Problem solved.

Now I entered the day on a moral high.  I was the one who had changed, I was the one who had moved my position the most.
That meant that something would be owed back to me.
It was a delightful thought.  I wondered what would be the best.

Maybe yes

An evening (large) glass of whisky (or 2 glasses of wine)
My choice of that evening's TV viewing?
The handcuffs and Velvet whip for later?

Maybe not

Such pleasant wanderings lasted until I made our coffee and snack after my beloved returned from church.  I had found 2 hot cross buns in the fridge, and I popped them under the grill to lightly toast.  I also popped 6 Hobnobs onto the grill beside them.  We had recently opened a packet and found them to be a bit soft and soggy, even though the sell-by date was months away. 

It worked, the Hobnobs (after cooling) were returned to their optimal crunchy state.
I put the rest of the packet under the grill at a low heat to crunch-up as well.
Then my beloved asked me if I would mind dropping in to see one of her aged friends who was having a problem with her cordless phone.

Excellent, another method of adding to my credit in the ledger of our life.
Hmmm. I wonder if the credit balance would now stretch to 2 glass of malt whisky?
Nipped down to see her friend (about 2 km away, so I took my truck).  Blast she wasn't in.  Back home.
Strange smell as I came back into our house from the garage.  Strange sounds as well.  What on earth was that high pitched beeping?
The smoke alarm?
Upstairs in the kitchen?

THE BISCUITS. 

Ran into the kitchen just as my beloved was depositing a large tray of smoking charcoal discs onto our front deck.
"DO YOU KNOW HOW CLOSE WE CAME TO HAVING A FIRE?" she said
"Yes Dear, sorry Dear"
Tidied away all the wreckage and scrubbed out the carbonised grill pan. 
This incident of domestic forgetfulness would wipe out all of my hard earned ledger credits

I suppose that means no whisky or whips tonight.

Blast.