Nev Dull HTML O' The Day - 2003
2000 archives 2001 archives 2002 archives 2004 archives this yearOur sink is blue and we're not talking about it. It happened over a week ago; I was leaning over the sink, brushing my teeth, when I noticed that there was a sort of lazuline patina that had seeped over most of the surface. Margret hasn't mentioned anything about this. Why she hasn't is that she's obviously tried to clean the sink with, well, I don't know, some fluid used for stripping entrenched cerriped colonies from the hulls of submarines or something (they were probably offering three bottles of the stuff for the price of two at Aldi). She is waiting for me to mention it. But I am a wily fox, and will be doing nothing of the sort. I'm no wet-behind-the-ears, naive youth anymore, not by a looooong way, and I can perfectly see the spiked pit the seemingly innocent words, 'Did you know the sink's blue' are covering. It would go - precisely - like this: Me: Did you know the sink's blue? Margret: Yes. I did. I used a jungle exfoliant produced by the Taiwanese military to clean it, and it discoloured the surface. Me: Oooooooo. K. Margret: Well maybe, just maybe, if you cleaned the sink once in a while... You see what she did there? Now I'm facing a whole day of 'When did you last...?' Well, not this canny fellow - not this time, my friends. Our sink is blue and we're not talking about it. ... Romance Masterclass. It's Wednesday the 12th of February. It's early evening. Margret and I are sitting in the living room. Margret has asked me to do something the following day. Mil: 'I can't, I'm afraid. I'm going into town.' Margret: 'Why? What do you need to go to town for?' Mil: 'Oh, I have to get some stuff.' Margret: 'What stuff?' Mil: 'Just some stuff... things.' Margret: 'What things?' Mil: 'Various things.' Margret: 'What things?' Mil: 'What does it matter?' Margret: 'What things?' Mil: 'It's not important what specific things, is it? I have to get things or I wouldn't be cycling into town, would I? All that's relevant here is that I have to go, not the details of the individual items I need to get - there's no point wasting time giving you a big list, when the only significant point is that I need to go to town.' Margret: 'What things?' Mil: 'Oh, for Christ's sake... Pizzas. I need to buy some pizzas, OK?' Margret: 'We've got pizzas.' Mil: 'We've got a pizza.' Margret: 'So? How many do you need?' Mil: 'Several. I want to have several in the fridge.' Margret: 'Why?' Mil: 'So that we have a stock of them.' Margret: 'Why?' Mil: 'So that we don't run out, obviously.' Margret: 'What would happen if we ran out?' Mil: 'I'd have to go to town.' This flings itself out of my mouth while my higher brain is still racing along behind it frantically waving its arms and shouting, 'Wait! Wait!' Margret responds with just the tiniest movement of her eyebrows. Absolutely minuscule. Sufficient in size, however, to make me wonder if I could get a UN resolution to have her bombed. Mil: 'I have to get other things too.' Margret: 'What things?' Mil: 'What the bloody hell does it matter? Why can't I go to town if I want to, for God's sake?' Margret: 'Why are you being secretive? What are you up to?' Mil: 'I'm not up to anything.' Margret: 'Yes you are.' Mil: 'Like what?' Margret: 'I don't know.' Mil: 'Because there isn't anything.' Margret: 'Yes there is - I can tell.' Mil: 'There isn't.' Margret: 'You bloody liar.' Mil: 'You bloody mad woman.' Margret: 'Tell me.' Mil: 'Stop talking now.' Margret: 'Tell me.' Mil: 'I...' Margret: 'Tell me.' I think we've both risen to our feet by this point (it allows for better voice projection). Mil: 'OK! OK! You want to know why I need to go up town, you relentless harridan?!' Margret: ''Yes! You lying swine!' Mil: 'So I can get your Valentine's Day card! So I can get your bloody Valentine's Day card and post it to here - so it'll arrive as a nice surprise through the post!' A tiny flicker. It's the merest stutter of hesitation, though, then she's back on track before the beat is really lost. Margret: 'You don't need to get me a bloody Valentine's Day card!' (I can't imagine what makes her think she's going to get away with this move - she must be getting old.) Mil: 'Too bad! Because I'm getting you a Valentine's Day card! And I'm posting it to you! Tomorrow! When I go to town!' Margret: 'THERE'S NO BLOODY NEED!' Mil: 'WELL IT'S GOING TO BLOODY HAPPEN - GET USED TO IT!' And, indeed, I do go to town, buy her a card, and post it. Inside I write, 'Surprise!' She gets it on Valentine's Day and says, 'Thank you,' to me, through gritted teeth. (She gets me one too, by the way - it reads, "I'm not interested in a nice, normal relationship... I like ours better.") Odysseus and Penelope? Pah - lightweights.