What’s that smell?

My lovely man is of great support to me and does many (read all), of the household chores.

Don’t you want one? Get your own, this one’s mine.

He often uses my little car to run around in.  It’s a ‘fuel saver’ vs a ‘ gas guzzler’.

The other morning we were having our pre-walk morning cuppa (and choccie biscuit) and he announced.  ‘ I don’t think I took the shopping out of the car yesterday, let me check’.

I’m sure it’s all fine he continued a little later… I’ve put the chicken in the freezer, all good.

Darling, I said, I don’t think that’s clever, shouldn’t we throw that chicken away?

It’s for the dogs he said, I’m sure it will be fine.  (I, of course, would take a bullet for my dogs, so this is NOT fine really).

I don’t get to drive my car, or any car very often.  My lovely man is the designated driver as a rule.  When we first started dating, he was very complimentary of my driving.  Now that the honeymoon is over there are any number of suggestions, instructions, and pleas to Jesus for help when I drive.  

But I had occasion (read boozy girls lunch), to go out by myself and lowered myself into my car and trundled off.

On my return, I asked my lovely man if it was my car that he had used when he went shopping and left the chicken in the car.

Yes, I think so, he said, it’s easier to park, why do you ask?

Because, darling, my car smells like something has died in it.

So now, not only do we have to empty the freezer of any chicken so that no-one in the household dies, I also have to sell or perhaps set alight my car. 

Perhaps you can have him after all.

Say that again?

My lovely man is a bit hard of hearing.

The entire household seems to be, because certainly no one listens to me, including all the animals.

I am often reminded of a dear fellow that I worked with who informed me ‘ Rosie, your voice is pitched like a dog whistle, none of us have a chance.’

I digress.

On a recent morning walk, we were approached by some fellows who had saved a tortoise that was (slowly we presume), dodging the traffic.  Precious little thing.  Because this is Africa, we had to pay them and I carried the dear little thing triumphantly home.

I have always had a fondness for tortoises, and this little guy has now come into our lives!  That’s how it happens with animals isn’t it? 

I am likely to be lambasted because perhaps he’s exotic and we should not be looking after him.  But I love him already.  We’ll figure out for sure what the right thing to do is.  Better in the garden than the traffic surely?

Let’s call him Tommy I suggested to my lovely man.  How do you know he’s he, he asked.  My sister, I advised him, said that male shells are more rounded, and female shells are flatter.

Oh, he said, how on earth would she know that, should I Google it too?

She’s quite smart I said, but yes, you can Google it.

What should I ask Google he asked me.

Ask Google ‘ How do I sex a tortoise’ I suggested.

There are no results, he advised somberly, for ‘ How do I text a tortoise’ , I think we are doing it wrong.

Don’t you just love him? I’m sure he does it on purpose to entertain me.  He’s the best.

Tommy, it turns out, prefers the pronoun ‘ they ‘ .

It’s just routine

My lovely man and I have a bit of an exercise routine.  Nothing to get excited about, just a daily walk and a bit of stretching and Pilates. Not very far (the walk) and it’s chair Pilates.

Still, we are better off for doing it and quite smug about the effort.

I say routine, but we are easily jolted out of this routine for a variety of reasons (insert irrelevant excuse here), and then it takes some effort to get back into it.

Anyway, with enormous discipline we once again staggered off on our walk today after some weeks of abstinence.

But!  This time I strapped some extra weight onto my ankles.

A friend I used to walk with has some of these ankle/wrist weights and I was greatly admiring of them, and her.

These are the reason she looks fabulous, and I look like shit I pondered.

So, I ordered some. 

I am a great Take a Lot fan.  I only recently discovered Take a Lot, but since then, am single handedly, I believe, keeping them afloat. 

I use their services when I am in Zimbabwe. Via a runner. Also a recent discovery. I am clearly a late bloomer.

Very sadly, most goods in Zimbabwe are so horrifically overpriced that it is cheaper to shop this way. Illegally I mean. Don’t tell Al Jazeera.

This really, is all the excuse I need to shop. Cheaper.  There should be a 12-step plan for Take a Lot.

Why have you ordered that my lovely man inquires after every delivery of goodies.  Because it’s cheaper, I reply.  But he continues, do we need it?

How irrelevant. Men.

When I ordered my wrist/ankle weights, I contemplated the 2kg pair.  Luckily, I settled on 1kg an ankle really.

Are you ready to go my lovely man asked.  Well, yes, I said, as soon as I find the strength to lift my weighted foot off this chair and put it on the ground again.

I’m not carrying those for you when you get tired, he warned.  He’s not an idiot. He gives me a similar warning every time we go out and it’s a bit nippy.  Take a jacket, I’m not giving you mine. 

And then, of course, he does.  Bless him. Not without some mutters.

Are you OK he asked as I gasped along on the walk.  Sure, I replied, but I’m likely to need a double knee replacement.

I better end up as fabulous as my friend.

Who’s the loveliest then?

When we travel, the trusty Mandova looks after our animals.

Mandova has titled himself ‘Estate Manager’. We appreciate him greatly.

Because he is kind, and my dogs in particular, are needy, they sleep with him when we are away. He sends me videos of them in their little baskets in his bedroom.

My lovely man broods on this and intermittently suggests we try and get the pups to sleep in their baskets vs the bed. This results in me fretting all night that they are sad and getting up no less than six times in the night to take them off the bed and put them back in their baskets. When we wake up in the morning, after eventually falling into an exhausted sleep, everyone is on the bed anyway. It’s all pretty pointless and exhausting.

How do you keep the dogs off your bed my lovely man asked Mandova, exasperated. Oh, he says, they start off in their baskets, but when I wake up, they are both on the bed. Also, Bella snores.

Bless him.

Our Bella ensures we prove our love every day. Part of this requires us to carry her to bed. Years ago, I explained this to my lovely man when he asked where she was at bed time. He has a soft spot for her, so this has become his nightly duty. She doesn’t make it easy. Sometimes she hides herself in the garden for extra proof that she is loved. He sighs, switches off the alarm, tracks her down and carries her through. She accepts this adoringly, administors kisses, gets kisses back and he tucks her in next to him.

It’s these things that make me count my blessings people.