Thursday, March 04, 2004

Buy us a dinner and a bottle of wine 

My wife and I have been married for seven years this month. Nobody mention Marilyn. Seven years. We've known each other for nearly ten, which is even scarier. Do we get some kind of certificate? The hardest part of marriage for me are those moments when I think "what the hell is this incredible woman doing with me?" One wife, two kids, two dogs. Those seem pretty good stats for now, so I think I'd like them to remain stable. All bets are off on the fish, his two mates having died in bizarre circumstances. They are - were - guppies, I think, tiny little things which appeared one day in the sitting room, following a trip to the pet shop with the kids, in a small tank with a plastic shipwreck. So we fed them, cleaned them out occasionally, and that was about that. I’m sad to say that these two things that we did for the fish were to lead to the deaths of two thirds of the trio.

I was sprinkling some foul smelling fish flakes on the water’s surface one morning when I noticed a certain lack of activity inside the tank. There were only two little wrigglers in there, wriggling. I finally spotted the third, wedged into the porthole of the shipwreck, eyes glazed, stuck tight and dead as a doornail. He probably thought he could make it, forgot the extra fish flake he'd had for lunch, then whoops. Poor little bugger.

The second was equally strange. In the cleaning process, there is a tricky stage when you have to catch them and transfer them from the tank into a temporary home, usually a large mixing bowl. This operation takes place over the sink, due to the water sloshing around. One washday, the black one (they were all slightly different colours. We didn't give them names or anything though. There didn't seem to be much point) was wrigglier than usual, leaped out of the water at a crucial point in the transfer, and straight down the drain. Way to go Nemo. Watch out for the crocodiles. And the turds. And then there was one.

Anyway, the anniversary leads to the usual dance:
"What should we do?"
"What do you want to do?" (Cunning move that - see how I turned it right round?)
"Do you want to go out to dinner?" (Oh shit, a definite proposal. Yes: pick a restaurant; No: why the hell not?)
"Ye-es, but we are trying to save money, what with the building and everything" (Damn, I'm good. Mr thoughtful and responsible. Hang on what about Mr Romantic? Too late.)
Mention of the building swings things into the latest decision: door knobs or handles? Tough one. Then I realise: she's got me again. The subject has now been broached. No decision made. It's now my role (me Tarzan) to fix things up. Make a decision (uh-oh), make some plans, sort things out. See how she did that? Me neither. Bugger. Seven years of marriage. Want to know what I have learned about these situations? Absolutely nothing. I do know some good florists though.

So we are looking for romantic, cheap, easy to plan, original. Suggestions on a postcard. Quick.

Listening to: The White Stripes, White Blood Cells.

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?