On my hike down memory lane, I stumbled across this gem……….
See what I can do
Marriage is an incredible journey. It is hopefully a long and happy one, but let’s face it, having to adjust to another’s needs and wants instead of one’s own can be a bit depressing.
My late husband had a wicked sense of mischief. One that I did not always enjoy. At times I was quite sure he spent his day figuring out new ways to annoy me.
Here are a couple of ‘instances.
Every day I would prepare a tray of food for the wild birds in our garden. The dish had different types of seed, fruits, and sometimes leftovers from the previous night’s dinner. All this yummy stuff, I scattered around the lawn, then settled down to watch, with a glass of ‘hooligan juice’ brandy and coke, also known as Klippies and coke. Klipdrift mixed with Coca-Cola.
As one can imagine, the vast number of birds the food attracted was terrific. John, bless him, (grr) would sit at the dining room and count them down one by one, as they landed for their feast.
Then just as I settled down to watch slam his hand down on the table, giving the birds such a shock, they would surge upward in a frightened, fluttering, feathered tsunami (that’s quite a tongue twister, try it).
Yup, he could drive me crazy.
Another little trick he had which really baffled me. He would watch cricket on Tv, and listen to football on the radio. Now, as can be imagined, the one blocked out the other. No problem… he just turned up one or the other, resulting in ear-shattering, a mind-numbing racket that must have rocked the neighbourhood off their feet.
I think he may have been daft.
At this point, I would like to mention we were living in an enormous house. It had four bedrooms plus a flat. Two lounges and a large open plan kitchen… John would sit at the counter watching TV, with the remote in one hand and a beer in the other.
Trying to sleep against the barrage of noise coming from the sitting room was impossible?
So, I clambered out of bed, walked the mile-long passage, climbed the stairs, and angrily turned down the volume.
He somehow judged how long it took me to get back to my bed, wait a while, and just as I was drifting off, BANG! Turn up the volume.
This little scenario played out a few times, until I gave up, and switched on my bedside radio to try and counteract the racket.
When he finally came to bed, he cavalierly switched off my radio, which I was now enjoying. I switched it back on. Slam! He switched it off again. Time for him to sleep.
I lay there, silently furious, just waiting for my chance. Then, as that first bubbling snore emanated from him, picked up my pillow, tiptoed around the bed, lifted my hand, and WHACK! I gave him such a clout, he must have thought the end had come.
As he gazed up at me, dazed and thoroughly confused, I leered down at him and in my most menacing tone said,
“See what I can do.”
Shouting for my son, with visions of ‘The Burning Bed’ in his head, he yelled out that I was trying to kill him in his sleep. Of course, that was rubbish, but, tell you what, no more problems at bedtime after that.