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Is that tar?

I accompanied my lovely man to the barber again recently.

I left him to go in and popped into the nearby chemist first. For cold sore cream. I explained that it wasn’t for me, because I don’t get cold sores, and the lady helpfully commented that I must be the ‘giver’. The cold sore giver.

I’m sure she’s wrong.. But… Full disclosure.

The fellow at the barber shop was delighted when I walked in. Immediately gesturing that he could sort out my fluffy face one time. I stopped him in his tracks with ‘the look’.

There’s not a lot of English spoken at my lovely man’s barber shop. Nor is there a lot of explanation as to the the happenings.

Darling… My lovely man called out in mild panic, why are they putting tar on my ears? And why have I got earbuds in my nose?

Oh, I said, they must be waxing your hairy bits, brace yourself.

Darling… He cried out again, what’s happening, why are they laying me back now?

Don’t worry, I said, I don’t think they are going to waterboard you.

We’ve been watching Ozark, so this reassurance seemed necessary.

What they were doing was threading his eyebrows. My lovely man will no longer be on the list to play Santa after all this exceptional grooming.

The fellow did look longingly at my fluffy face again, imagining the good work he could do with that thread. Another look was necessary.

Is this what they do with beavers my lovely man enquired loudly. I’m not sure I replied, but they’ll probably put it on their list of services now that you’ve raised the idea.

I felt that my lovely man’s yelps of pain and cussing were a bit unnecessary, but the results were exceptional.

So much so, they felt compelled to show everyone in the shop the hair removal.

Photo to accompany Google review.

My lovely man has a bit of an attitude about repeating the experience.

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Show me where it hurts

In an effort to improve my fitness levels I have injured myself.

In the buttock sadly.

I’ve pulled a muscle in my bum I informed my lovely man.

How he asked.

Must be from my exercise regime I informed him. Obvs.

It’s extraordinary that you’ve hurt yourself considering your mild routine he commented.

And usually, he continued, oblivious to the hole he was digging, if someone pulls a muscle, they know about it immediately, when and how did your injury happen?

I explained, a bit frostily, that letting yourself go is a very gradual thing. Over many epochs really. As is building oneself up again.

So, now I have to pay a professional to tend to my buttock.

There was a time, that massaging my buttock was an offered service.

That ship, it appears, has sailed. And here we find ourselves.

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I’ll take those

Some years ago I was imploring my lovely man to please instill systems to keep himself organised.

He answered me at the time that he has a flawless system, he waits for me to tell him what to do and he does it.

Now…. I know what you are thinking… ‘she sounds bossy’

But! You’d be right.

One of the things my lovely man is instructed to do is to take his (many) pills twice a day. These I carefully organise for him every 28 days and put them out morning and night.

I know what you are thinking… he’s more than capable of doing this himself surely.

Bear with.

He is in charge of organsing our glass of water for our respective bedside tables at night.

I noticed that I only had half a glass and queried it. Well, he said, my pills were there, so I just used that water and took them.

I looked across at his side and yes… there were his pills and his full glass of water. I pointed.

OK, he said, I must take my pills.

So…. now his hormones are all nicely balanced and I’m bossy AND ratty.

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It’s an emergency

My lovely man is big on health and safety. Big.

So, he was delighted when a worker injured his eye while helping us with something at the house the other day.

He could launch into action. My lovely man’s launching into action immediately involves me.

The fellow had hurt his eye.

Rosie, we have an IoD he yelled, bring the first aid kit.

It’s also necessary, it seems, to break into code.

Where’s the H&S SOP file he continued.

What? Rousing myself from the depths of an email.

We have an injury on duty he said somewhat impatiently, where is our standard operating procedure file for health and safety? And get the first aid kit.

I have a cotton swab, some bicarb and eyedrops I offered. There is no file.

He sighed… Obviously hoping I was in a position to perform surgery.

My lovely man’s biggest thing is ladder safety.

There was no ladder in this situation, but it didn’t stop him giving the fellow with the weeping, injured eye the lecture anyway.

If the man ever regains his sight, he will know it’s imperative to have someone hold the ladder. Oh, and never be without eye goggles.

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Sure, you can use it for that

I was wallowing in my bath the other day.

Yes, yes, I know…. terribly irresponsible to bath vs showering. The world seems to either be flooded or stricken by drought, have you noticed? So yes, I know… but still.. I do love an occassional bath.

I noticed that my bath gel boasted ‘105 uses’

Once again, I probably should be washing myself with a good old bar of soap or perhaps even coarse salt or riversand depending on the levels of austerity adopted.

Although…. we need the salt for the dishwasher, or salt grinders…. we are not bothered if it’s edible or not in our household.

And, I read that sand plays havoc with the sewage systems.

Back to the 105 uses. 105?! Apart from the obvious ….. what else can you use it for? It didn’t say. Washing your hair, washing the floor?

It’s just marketing BS isn’t it? You know it! I know it too, but I love it. I am everyone’s target market.

Is this something that made me buy it over another brand, that it had so MANY uses? I can’t remember. Subliminal.

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Fit as a fiddle

My brother is quite a disciplined fellow. In most aspects of his life, including exercise. Also, he got the metabolism. Healthy appetite… lean and mean.

Sometimes life is not fair.

Anyhooo…. we are trying. My lovely man and I. We have a daily exercise routine and it is doing wonders. Nothing to get overly excited about, we are not quite Comrades ready and nobody is inviting us to parade on any catwalk. But, we are doing more than we have done for some time, so there’s that.

My brother (and my adorable sister in law), have a rowing machine. I looked at them, and thought, that’s it, if I just BUY a rowing machine, I’ll look as good as they do.

So, of course, I did. Only to find you actually have to use it.

I mentioned to some (very active) friends that I have a rowing machine. They were enormously impressed. I’m surprised you don’t have one I replied. Well… they replied, we wait for people like you to put hardly used stuff on the market and pick things up for next to nothing.

Rude.

I like the ‘just row’ setting on my fabulous machine. That way I can feel like Forest Gump and just GO! Of course I do stop sooner than dear Forest. Quite a bit sooner.

Nevertheless, I am using it every day and every day I try and beat the previous day.

Take that ye of little faith.

My lovely man is having to lower me onto the loo and wash my hair as I have lost the use of my limbs.

Least he can do as I transform into a goddess in front of his eyes really.

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There’s a cloth for that

My lovely man has pain in his hands the poor soul.

A friend of his gifted him with this magical little cloth to help him open things.

Life changing! He is opening things left and right. Most especially, my wine.

A friend of MINE gifted me with some crocheted kitchen cloths. What a win they are too! He is opening things, and I am wiping them down.

So…. as it’s the season to be jolly and just in case you want to get us a wee pressie, any sort of cloth is met with much delight.

Or a wind chime. One cannot have too many really. Same for candles.

Or wine.

Or beer.

Just saying…

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It’s not hot is it?

My lovely man loves a curry. Well, this is not strictly true, because he doesn’t really like hot or spicy food.

He loves a stew really.

Anyway, there is seldom a stew on a restaurant menu (why is that?), so his default is the curry.

Also not true, his default is an omlette. He quite often asks at a fancy lunch restaurant if they have an omlette.

But generally… The curry is ordered, with the ‘it’s not too hot or spicy is it?’

The restaurant people are always puzzled by this of course.

Order something else you can see on their faces.

Without fail he is told… No, no. It’s fine. Not too hot.

Also… Without fail he will say to me ‘it’s very nice, but a bit too hot for me’.

And then, the next time .. He will order the curry.

Consistent. I like consistent. Love him.

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I can help with that

My lovely man goes to a barber. They are very pleasant. They rid him of all sorts of facial hair, thank goodness.

The fellows are not well versed in English. I think they are Eygyptian. (I can hear you bursting into song as to how they walk).

Nevertheless, we bumble through and he gets his short back and sides.

I was sitting and waiting recently. Keeping myself to myself. The fellow kept on glancing at me. I smiled sweetly.

Suddenly, he pounced. Stroking my cheek. Yes!

And then there was thread and he was ‘threading’ the fuzz on my cheek.

It’s a curse I tell you. Must be getting worse …. my fluffy face.

Also, threading is sore, not recommended. I beat him off with my handbag.

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That might kill you

We have a recurring weed patch that pushes it’s way through part of the paving. Just a small section of the paving. When I pondered aloud as to why the weeds were coming up only in that section, my lovely man said that it was probably over the sewage section.

I’m sorry I asked.

So, we have to dig these wees out intermittently. We were told that a concoction of hot water and salt might be easier.

I suffered some conflict in this regard, which was scoffed at by my lovely man. But, it just doesn’t feel right to pour boiling water over any living thing does it?

Anyway, he asked if we had salt he could use to put in a jug of boiling water and I said that he could use some of the dishwasher salt.

The weed patch looks very sad now.

Then he advised me that he had used some of the same (dishwasher salt), to top up the salt grinders.

I don’t think…. I started….

Salt is salt he said firmly. In the VOICE OF AUTHORITY.

Well, Google says it’s not. Dishwasher salt is not to edible standards.

Proceed with caution if we invite you for a meal.

We recently had a visitor who developed a stomach bug. Not sure there is a connection.