She who must be obeyed - when she's looking.

 

As the 29th anniversary of our wedding draws near  (29 glorious, wonderful, ecstatic, sublime years; I'd better not overplay the superlatives - unless she gets to see this) my beloved,  friend, companion, mentor, etc etc, requested that I do some "stuff" about the house. Only fair, I suppose since after four days non-stop work I had almost an hour to myself.

   'Why don't you trim the ivy over the garage?' In deference to her exhaulted position, I considered it for almost a second.

   'No'

   'Right.' Her face hardened only slightly but after almost thirty years of experience, causing my skin to pucker in terror.

   'Then why don't you cut the grass for the last time this year?'

   'In November?' Maybe a technical excuse this time. 'It's probably against the law and anyway, the drought has only just been called off.' Complete gibberish but even she couldn't argue against the government.

   Now her eyes narrowed to slits..

   'Well what are you going to do today. I mean, I slog my backside off all day while all you do is sit around and write -  and write. Oh and just for a change of pace, you sometimes write.' The irony, or was that sarcasm, or perhaps even iron-asm flowed round the room like boiling tar.

   'I'll wash your car, my beloved.' I offered, congratulating myself for my wisdom, or was that complete snivelling while simultaneously letting down the entire male population with my brazen cowardice.

   'Fine,' she snarled, 'but unless you want me to watch back to back X Factor until you squeal like a girl, I'd better be able to shave in the reflection of the bodywork!' That evoked images far too graphic for you gentle readers.

   'You've got three hours.' Her eyes blazed again. 'Wax on - wax off.'

   She could teach Bruce Lee a thing or two about pain.