As we were going to have a small wedding out in the sticks, we held a Pre-Nuptial-Party at Kingfisher Canoe Club back in 1988 to celebrate with friends who couldn’t make it or who hadn’t cracked the nod. Who to invite and who to discreetly ignore is one of the things that makes the lead-up to tying the knot vrot with danger as anyone who has gone singing to the gallows well knows.
I was reminded yesterday about that happy gathering by Barbara Mason, who I only occasionally see as she lives a normal and sane life, parallel to the madcap canoeing world that links me to her hubby Charles (him a legendary paddler, me a used-to-be wannabe).
She told me she quotes from my speech of that night to this day. I had forgotten that I’d even spoken, but she assures me I spake thus:
“Aitch and I gave careful consideration to the pros and cons of getting married, but we decided to go ahead and get married anyway.”
A long Day Offstretched ahead of me. My schedule looked like this:
.
.
.
.
Bliss!
“Oh, I booked you for an assessment at the gym at 6am” says my Aitch.
GYM? My shadow never darkens the door of any gym! She knows that! “Calm down, it’s with Tanya the biokineticist and it’s for Vitality points,” Aitch instructs me patiently. “And I told you about it” she reminds me.
Hmph! That rattled me. But, Oh well, thank goodness it’s early, the rest of the day will be just me and chilling.
Aitch is taking the younger to school and doing his class reading, so I suggest we meet for breakfast before her chemo, making my second appointment for the day. My day off is filling up.
At the gym Tanya worked my case with pushups and crunchies and other forms of torture – which seem like nothing compared to when she starts measuring me.
“It’s OK, just put 75kg” I said for weight. “No I must measure” she says, hauling out the scale from under the torture bed. It was unfair, as she didn’t have one of these scales . .
. . so I had to take her word for my weight and her word was “92,8” – said ominously. Oh.
“99cm” I say as she approaches me with a tape measure (knowing that over 100 classifies one as obese in this freaky anal gym-world environment.).
“106” she deadpans. I clearly hear the implied “Jy’s obese, ou bees”.
But she’s very sweet in the end, telling me I’m absolutely perfect and supremely healthy if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m fat and unfit. I squeak into the bottomest of the “acceptable” rating. Up from “fair” six months ago (which is the last time I did any bending or pushing). Aitch will get her bonus Vitality points. Phew!! Tanya gives me a list of stuff I must eat (crunchy and fruity) and stuff I must avoid (succulent and tasty).
I get home and Jess is waiting to be taken to school.
At breakfast with Aitch at Oscar’s on the Berea, I get prrring prrring (actually I got Reelin’ and Rockin’ as Jessie has changed my ringtone). “Why aren’t you at the clinic?” A mad scramble for St Mary’s hospital at Marianhill ensues, gotta stop at home to pull on some long pants – How was I to know? I’m on leave! (OK, if I’d read my sms earlier . . . ) – As I shovel a last mouthful of Oscar’s kipper into my beak, Aitch shoves a list into my hand.
So now my day looks like this:
6.00am Torture and Humiliation
7.10am Jess to school
8.00am Breakfast with Aitch
8.30am Eye Clinic volunteer duty
(arrived 9.20am – could get fired – yeah, right!)
1.30pm Fetch Jess from school
2.30pm Fetch Tom from soccer
3.30pm Take Jessie to swimming
4.30pm Fetch Jess from swimming
5.00pm Take Tom to cub scouts
7pm Fetch Tom from cubs
Jessie asked nicely to skip swimming. I said FINE. Tommy immediately said “Great, so I’m skipping cubs.” No way. It was the AGM and all the cubs were in full uniform. My fella had all his kit on and looked really spiff. So much so that his bare feet almost didn’t seem to matter. Except to Akela.
– my man –
Bliksem! Tomorrow I’m going to take the day off. By going to work. This ‘Being Like a Mom’ lark is exhausting.
This poster reminded me of a school lift a few years back where the kids were talking about their dogs.
“Did you guys know our dog Sambucca’s Dad is ZinZan, Luke’s dog, and her Mom is Daisy, Emily’s bitch?” I asked them about our labrador – both those kids were in the kombi.
“Yes” said Luke, sounding sad – “But they’re separated”.
~~~oo0oo~~~
I shook with silent laughter as they pondered this sad news. I wasn’t going to tell them the happy undevoted couple had only “been together” for twenty minutes.
~~~oo0oo~~~
This email exchange followed:
Steve wrote: Hope he is keeping up with his alimony payments.
Me: Hey! I hadn’t thought of that! Lance, methinks ZinZan should be sending a monthly cheque . . .
Bewilderbeast Droppings 