Personal Blogs

My wife.

She gets ideas. Ideas that always involve me suffering in some way.

Here's one. Last summer I woke up about four one morning to find my big-toe twitching involuntarily. It was really unsettling. It was only when I heard a supressed-giggling and clocked a big eye watching me through the crack of the door that I understood what was going on.

She'd tied some thread to my toe, a thread at which she tugged, probably for over an hour, waiting for me to wake.

Yesterday we visited my parents, my mum was quite taken with the size of my workboots compared to the size of my pigeon-legs, legs that are a genetic inheritance from her.

[This is deliberate. I wanted anime: huge black boots, black tight-waisted combats, black polo shirts with house badges on the collars and hi-vis bomber jackets with the sleeves rolled up. Spicky hair. When we really want to unsettle people we wear shades.]

So tonight my bloody woman gets the idea of accentuating this contrast: I was to wear my linings [thermal underwear, which are tight to the ankle] and she'd take a photo that would make a fine birthday card for my mother.

You have no understanding of the pressure that she can apply to me when she wants something. It got done, despite my moans.

I look ridiculous. So I suppose that she was right—that will make my mother laugh.