I've Been a Naughty Boy

I know I've been a naughty boy because my Beloved has told me so.

Oh dear, I've really f*cked up.

I've been happily married for 7 years, and the last 27 haven't been too bad as well, so after all that time, you'd think that I would learn the basic rules of a happy home life.

Sunday Sublime

What a lovely day

The Importance of Good Grooming

Most times I really don't care if I look scruffy or disheveled.

The Perils of Paper

I Just Always Love Adore Alliteration.

33 Years continued...

I  We had our anniversary on Monday, and I'm trying to remember how we celebrated them over the years.

Anchovies

Every time I leave Nuova Lazio High to head home, I send a text message to my beloved, telling her of my love, devotion and hunger. 
This efficient method of communication ensures we keep in touch and also that my Dinner is ready when I get home. (Please understand that this is in no way an order to my beloved to MAKE FOOD, just a gentle transfer of information and intent)

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.

Success

We went for a little trip to Johnsonville yesterday.
Even though her back was still pretty sore, my beloved insisted she was well enough to go to a long-planned Tai Chi conference and exhibition
I was acting in my usual role as taxi driver and escort, but Praise Be, I was allowed to escape for the 4 hours while the exhibition was taking place.

I had a pleasant drive through Churton Park, Tawa and ended up in Porirua.
I'm so glad I live in Upper Hutt.

I had planned to be in Porirua, as I had a plan in place to supply a surprise Christmas present to my beloved.
You may remember the problems I have had with Christmas presents in the past, here's a list to remind you.

1. Frying Pan. This one was meant as a joke, as a secondary or tertiary gift, backing up the primary. Unfortunately, the primary gift, (a very expensive set of Hi-Fidelity wireless earphones) was rejected within 0.2 milliseconds of the gift being removed from its packaging, so the jocularity I had planned for when I bought out the frying pan was absent. A stony and extended silence ensued.
   
   36 hours of frigid silence at Christmas does not a happy holiday make.
2. Perfume. Normally a good choice, especially when it’s a reputable brand like Channel, Yves St. Laurent etc. But. Don’t get perfume as the main gift 5 years in a row, and don’t, I really mean, NEVER buy the same perfume that your Mum used to use.
3. Vacuum Cleaner. No matter how good the advertising is, nor how crappy your present Hoover is, don’t be tempted. Guys might be happy with a socket set, or a rechargeable drill or even a set of screwdrivers, but the balance is NOT equitable. Home appliances ≠ female happiness.
4. Irons. This was my major mistake in all the years. Do you have any idea how scary it is to see a heavy, stainless steel iron coming at your face at about 80 mph? Remember Home appliances ≠ female happiness.
5. Automobile. This one was a shocker. I had really believed that this time it was the winner. A metallic blue, Mazda MX5 (Miata in the USA) convertible. I had polished it, it was gleaming in the summer sunshine (Christmas is early summer in NZ) and my beloved had always said that she wanted a convertible. Tears and mutterings of “never gave me the choice” indicated that I had miscalculated.
6. Negligee. The basic idea was alright, I think. Attractive but not too slutty, expensive, comfortable (so said the assistant, who thinking about it now, was on commission) unfortunately, it was too small. I had bought it 2 sizes too small. It was the same size as she had when we got married. I think it implied “getting fat”. I wasn’t “getting fat”, I didn’t get any Christmas dinner that year.
7. Negligee. Same as 6, but this time, to be on the safe side, I had bought a bigger size. 8 sizes bigger than the original size. “Much safer” I thought. “She can always exchange it” I thought. “ I’m getting hungry” I thought, as I didn’t get any Christmas dinner two years in a row.
8. Clothes. Any type; blouses, skirts, trousers, woollens, dresses. It doesn’t matter what you buy, the size/shape/design/colour/fit/designer/size will be wrong. I know I’ve mentioned size twice. Even when you change it to the “proper” size, it’ll still be wrong. There is one exception; Dressing Gowns are acceptable. It's really difficult to get the wrong size, but they are NEUTRAL, they don't get you any brownie points, or food (or any Sex, come to that)
9. Money. As I neared desperation, I began to try those items removing all personal choice. Money would be safe I thought. Oh no. “Too impersonal” I was told. It showed I didn’t care. It showed I hadn’t thought much about it. Shit.
10. Jewellery. Far too expensive, but I made the sacrifice. Spent 3 months prowling around the jewellers and finally decided on a lovely gold and sapphire gold ring. I decided on specifying white gold, as it was that bit more unusual and unique, and I thought it suited the fitting perfectly. First reaction was all that I could have expected, and then I was asked two questions.
    
    
    
    1. What had I done that made me feel so guilty that I had bought such an expensive gift.
    2. Why did I choose white gold. I knew (she said) that She didn’t like white gold. It was unlucky. (Our bloody wedding rings are in white gold. She doesn’t miss a trick)
    
    
    
    So this Christmas it is going to be the present of her dreams.  Wish me luck.
    I think I'll need it.
    
    When we returned home, my beloved's back was really sore, so I volunteered to cook again.
    A faint look of repugnance flitted across my beloved's countenance.  "So that's a NO then", I thought.
    "What about congee?" I asked (congee is a sort of rich rice porridge, with meat and veg)
    "We don't have suitable vegetables" she said. (seemingly chicken and asparagus is not a suitable mix.  Don't ask me, I'm just a stupid man.  Obviously.)
    Then I volunteered to make some French Toast.  (I wasn't particularly hungry. as I had sneaked a clandestine Burger in Porirua.  Actually, that'd make a good title for a song.  "The Burger from Porirua")
    My beloved said yes, so I made the French Toast:
    
    
    
    4 eggs well beaten
    
    ½ cup milk
    Dash of Worcester sauce (must be Lee & Perrins)
    Salt
    Pepper
    4 slices of bread
     
    (No offence to our American friends, but sweet French Toast isn't as good as savoury.  Keep the maple syrup away please)
     
    Soak bread in egg mixture until completely soggy
    Slide into hot well oiled frying pan
    Fry for 3-4 minutes per side
    Serve hot, with extra salt and pepper.
     
    They were perfect.  Nice and crunchy on the outside, nicely moist on the inside.
    I added a couple of fried tomatoes for some gesture towards healthy eating, but it was really in vain.
     
    MY BELOVED ENJOYED IT.
    I SCORED A 10
    SUCCESS
     
    
    
    It may have been my superb culinary skills
    It may have been my beloved's hunger (She had no lunch)
    It may have been the codeine (and a glass of wine) acting on her judgement.
    But I didn't care.
    SUCCESS
     
    

    

    Wow, You're so clever

Dinner

I cooked dinner last night.
My beloved's back was still very sore, so I volunteered to buy food (our larder was getting low) and cook.
She graciously accepted, so I popped into the supermarket after work.  Now my beloved is a superb cook, in virtually any cooking style, but she excels in Chinese and most Far-Eastern styles, and while I love them, sometimes I would prefer something a bit simpler.  Something planer.  Something British.

So I bought some Lamb Steak, two bunches of Asparagus, a box of new (organic) potatoes from Oamaru and some baby carrots.

After I got home and tidyed up, I grilled the steaks, boiled the spuds and carrots, and used the microwave on the asparagus.  I made a garlic, olive oil, salt and rosemary paste in the mortar and pestle, and used that as a quick marinade for the lamb.  Everything else was cooked simply, and I just added butter to all the vegies just before serving.
I overdid the lamb a bit, and it was a bit tough, but I thought the vegies were great.

Too much butter?  Rubbish

My beloved did not agree.  I had used too much butter on the spuds (I ask you, is it possible to have TOO MUCH BUTTER on new potatoes or asparagus?  I don't think so) The asparagus had been overcooked she said.  I thought it still had a nice crunch, it wasn't overcooked until it was all wobbly.  The carrots were too watery.  I agree.  I hadn't given them time to steam off, nor had I added enough butter.

Oh, don't get me wrong, my beloved was not ungrateful, she was all smiles for my efforts.
Then she made the comment I knew was coming. 
She:  "I still haven't changed your way of looking at food, have I?"
Me:   "What do you mean"?
She:  "You still like these old foods"
Me:  "If you mean simple and plain, well sometimes. Yes"
She:  "I haven't made you think healthy"
Me:  "What"
She:  "You use too much butter"
Me:  (In slightly guilty tones) "Well, maybe.  But we don't do it very often" (ending in whine)
She:  (In an amazing mixture of benign condescension) "Someone has to worry about your health, Dear"
Me: (Defeated, and knowing it) "Yes Dear"
She: "I know you tried Dear, and it was so nice not to have to cook"
Me: "Yes Dear"
She: "I'll be fine by tomorrow, so I'll do the cooking then"
Me: "Yes Dear"
She: "Are you doing the washing up now?"
Me: "Yes Dear"
She: "You seem to have used a lot of pots and pans"
Me: (Through gritted teeth) "Yes Dear"
She: "Have you arranged any dessert?"
Me: "Yes Dear"
She: "That's nice, what will it be?"
Me: (mumbling) "Humble Pie Dear"
She: "What was that you said Dear?"
Me: "Apple Pie Dear, with Custard"
She: "Oh, that'll be nice, but we don't need the custard Dear, it's too high in fats and sugars.  Just pie on it's own will be fine"
Me: "Ffffffff.... Yes Dear"
She: "After you do the washing and drying will be fine Dear"
Me: "Yes Dear";  leaves, going to kitchen, feet dragging, a beaten man

Sometimes I really feel like going out, finding the guy who discovered Cholesterol and shooting him.
Right after I shoot the stupid bastard who invented marriage.

A Fair Division of Labour

I recently commented that my beloved objected to my using the Devil's Computer during what little spare time I have.  I just thought I'd share with you all the very equitable division of labour in our household and comment on how it is with your own domestic arrangements.

My Beloved’s Duties	My Duties
Plan Meals	Put groceries in correct place
Buy Groceries	Wash pots and pans
Cook Meals	Load Dishwasher
Dust (once a month)	Empty Dishwasher
Occasional Gardening	Load Washing Machine
Hang up and fold washing	Vacuuming (weekly)
Attend Tai Chi classes	Wash Bathrooms and Toilets (weekly)
Attend flower arranging club	Walk dog
Read books	Bath dog
Watch TV	Car servicing and WOF
	Check ALL cars tyre pressures
	Check ALL cars oil and water levels
	Painting
	Decorating
	Electrical Maintenance and Repair
	Plumbing Maintenance and Repair
	Window Washing
	All Heavy lifting
	All Heavy gardening
	Mowing
	Weed Spraying
	ALL Computer problems
	Explaining how the computer works, re-explaining how to send an email, re-explaining how to download photos from our camera
	Polishing shoes
	Putting clean clothes in drawers and cupboards
	Ironing
	Barbequing
	Mice catching
	Gutter cleaning
	Paying Bills
	Balancing Bank Accounts
	Booking holidays
	Working as a full time teacher from 7:00 until 18:00 5 days a week