Tag: My Lovely Man

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It all counts

We have four little fur babies that share our lives. We also feed the birds in the neighborhood. All of them I suspect. Who are ravenous. And two little mice, who come and go and at present are gone, possibly deceased.

The two cats, interestingly enough, are far less fussy eaters than the two little dogs. When it comes to little dogs, it is important to note that if you spoil them with all kinds of delicacies when they are pups, you are screwed forever and have no hope of changing the diet back to anything easy or reasonably priced.

I am in charge of the morning cuppa in our household and this involves feeding the ravenous cats. Lie ins are not permitted ever, they barely make it through the night from dinner to 5am feed. We have a very vocal Ginger, who screams in my face by 05h10. No need for an alarm.

My lovely man feeds the pups a bit later, who do enjoy a lie in, as long as there is a wee snack given to them as we enjoy a cuppa and a choccie bic. (This is not their snack, panic not).

My lovely man reports back as to how the breakfast he serves the pups is received. He is delighted if it is scoffed down and distressed if not. A discussion as to how we can tempt these fat, ungrateful and completely indulged creatures ensues.

I suspect, I suggested, the ratio of pellets to the other goodies, is too high.

How many pellets must I give them then, he asked unexpectedly. Twelve each I randomly suggested, in a panic.

Then, we were thrown a curved ball as the vet suggested we soften the pellets to help with aging teeth.

So, one of my 5am duties is soaking the pellets in advance of the feed in hot water.

Immediately, I received feedback… And criticism.

You are obviously not counting the pellets, I was advised, there were 13 and 15 in the bowl respectively this morning. And there was disdain and dissent at breakfast as a result. Will you count them please? We decided on twelve.

As it turns out, one cannot make and then break the rules here.

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Is that the complaints department?

My lovely man is prone to nightmares. I know, it’s awful, the poor bugger. Everyone in his dreams seems determined to beat him up.

It’s quite traumatic and involves a great deal of soothing and cuddles after a session of screaming and thrashing around. And that’s just for the pups on the bed.

We’ve got some help, so it’s much improved, but the occasional burst of terror sometimes means he throws himself off the bed.

So, to keep him safe, I ordered, (Takealot of course, is there anything you can’t get from them? I think not), a bed rail.

So, now he’s caged in on one side and is limited to throwing himself on top of me.

(Not sure I’ve properly thought this through).

He’s got quite adept at raising and lowering the rail, but before he does that, he follows his little ritual of sitting on the side of the bed and faffing with whatever we faff with before we turn in.

Darling, he says out of the blue, you need to get hold of these people about a potential design flaw of this contraption of mine.

Oh, I said, what’s that?

I’m in severe peril of clamping my ballsack everyday if I’m not careful, he shared.

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This is not a survival tip

My lovely man… Bless him… gave me a little squeeze today.

Thank you darling, I said, love you, be careful to not squash the boobies. (This is never welcome just by the by, unless it’s your thing… In which case, you do you).

Oh, he said, sorry, I thought they were higher up.

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Fed up to my back teeth

I have entered that phase of my life, sadly, where a whole lot of work on my teeth is happening.

The Springboks endure their mouth guards for however long a rugby game lasts… Mine are a permanent fixture.

On the positive, I’m eating less, because it’s actually just a pain to eat. At the end of this ordeal, I expect to be a perfect set of gnashers, in a skull.

I have become quite creative about keeping everything now housed in my mouth clean, and have ventured into the world of, not just steradent, but dental tablets. Useful when you have to rinse and brush 15 times a day.

When my online order of dental tablets arrived, (I am not one to darken the door of an actual shop), they arrived with a bag of ‘mouth tapes’.

What have we here I pondered.

Well, for the ignorant, as I was, a mouth tape is something you wear over your mouth at night to ensure that you breath through your nose while you sleep.

All kinds of wondrous benefits to this apparently… Stops snoring, helps you avoid ‘dry mouth’.

So I slapped one over my mouth and went to bed.

Unfortunately, before explaining to my lovely man what was going on.

What’s this new kink he probably thought, and will it hurt?

I had generously decided to try it myself first rather than experimenting on him.

After explaining to him the concept… I watched his face.

I am quite expert at reading his mind.

‘Wonder if I could get her to wear one during the day’, I could see him thinking.

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I’m just messing with you

It is advised, that once a month or so, you clean your dishwasher or washing machine or whatever appliance you can thank for doing the shit stuff and saving you doing it by hand.

I am the early morning tea maker in our household. This involves making the tea/coffee, feeding the near to death starving cats who have barely made it through the night, making my lovely man’s much loved ‘breakfast bowl’ and also putting on a load of washing so that it can finish while we languish in bed for a bit.

Recently, I threw the required detergent that cleans said washing machine into the drum, set it to a programme over 60 degrees C and allowed it to clean itself. This, of course, you do when the machine is empty. Those marketing twits promise you it’s necessary to keep the machine clean.

Our washing machine plays a delightful little jingle when it’s done.

My lovely man, when he is within hearing range of the cheerful little jingle, is programmed to go and empty the machine and put the clothes in the dryer. Bless him.

I am, by now, in my epsom salts bath and I hear the jingle and then hear him heading to the machine to do the necessary. Like Pavlov’s pup. Isn’t he the best?

I wait and listen.

I hear him muttering, imagine him sticking his head into the empty drum, hear him slamming the door and then his determined steps to come and establish just what the hell is going on.

‘Darling, he says, you haven’t actually put any clothes……’

I was very tempted, of course, to say… ‘you must be mistaken, go and look again’

Love him… one day he’s going to murder me in my sleep.

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You go first

Darling, my lovely man asked, holding a handful of berries, what are these?

They look like gooseberries, I said, where did you find them?

There’s loads of them in the flower bed at the back, he replied.

Is there a gooseberry bush there, I asked. Apparently not.

They are nice, I said, popping one in my mouth, I’ll add them to your breakfast bowl (I’m always on the lookout for bright coloured fruit and veg my lovely man should be eating).

He looked at me horrified…. You don’t really know what they are… You could die.

Tastes like a gooseberry, I replied, but yes, we should wash them.

He watched me carefully the rest of the day… I knew he was concerned when he began with the questions..

How do I buy electricity?

What are the cake ladies details?

Can you please write down how exactly you make my breakfast bowl?

And then, as a bit of an afterthought…

How do I call the ambulance people?

So now… We have mysterious… Or as I like to call them.. Immaculate gooseberries.

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Marco….. Polo

About a year ago we splurged and upgraded my lovely man’s hearing aid.

The first set he had was not cheap, this one eye watering.

But… Necessary for his well being and my sanity really.

A few months later, we came back from walking the pups and he announced that one was missing.

The angels were watching over us, because we retraced our steps and found it lying in the road.

Darling… He announced earlier today… My left hearing aid is not in my ear.

Someone else take the wheel for a bit I thought to myself.

We started to look for it.

Do you think the app on my phone can track it he asked.

I looked at him… Astounded at the brilliance.

I actually had to sit down and take a wee sip of wine.

Where’s your phone?

I don’t know.

(Another sip).

Phone found…. The hearing aid is in the house!

And there we start…. Very Far…. Far.. Near.. The clever app guided us.

It’s in the kitchen!

15 minutes of searching the floor and counters. Realizing we have the worst tiles ever that could camouflage a lost rhinoceros if it fell on the floor.

Very near… It’s in the bin.

Of course.

Perhaps it’s time to give them a good clean my lovely man murmured.

Perhaps it’s time for wine.

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Enjoy your stay

We have bathroom scales. Not recommended, but we do. We hate ourselves like that.

My lovely man announced that his was no longer working. Of course I checked and yes, it appeared to have given up on life.

Do you want to just use mine I enquired.

No, he firmly responded, yours is not very friendly.

I knew it! Arsehole thing.

So, I bought him a new scale.

There’s two here, he advised.

Yes, I said, it was a good price if I bought two.

He looked at me quietly.

You’re going to put the arsehole scale in the guest room aren’t you?

There’s a fat mirror in there too I told him.

No wonder nobody visits us twice.

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Call the cops

I am the morning tea /coffee maker in our household…. My lovely man used to spoil me with a cuppa in bed… But I am the less sore one first thing these days… So it only seems right..

Of course my day starts off a visit to the bathroom, while the cats remind me that they are close to starvation and can I move it up.

As I peered at myself in the mirror the other morning, it looked like I had a shiner over my right eyelid.

Must be make up I thought.

It happened to be our first date anniversary… Is this some way of my lovely man displaying his seven year itch I thought?

Then I looked over at him drinking his tea and munching on his choccie bic and remembered that he is, in fact, the loveliest.

A little later, in the bath, post face wash, my lovely man popped in to ask re. his chore list for the day, so I took the opportunity… darling, I said, can you see the bruise on my eye? No, he said, looks fine.

Great, I thought, make up… Washed off, all good.

Looked in the mirror… Shiner, definitely

Are we even seen ladies? Let alone heard?

This itself is a crime, surely?

So… I called the cops

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All frothed up

‘Darling’ , my lovely man advised, ‘I’m not getting much of a froth on your cappacino of late, do you think there is something wrong with the milk?’

I had noticed this deterioration in quality, but I’m not one to complain as you well know.

Maybe, the frother is not being rinsed out properly I suggested. Perhaps there are remnants of sunlight liquid left, which are affecting the milk.

Unlikely he advised, I don’t use sunlight liquid, I just give it a little twirl under the cold tap, it’s only milk. Sometimes I use that little sponge, but it’s become a bit mingy.

Dear God, clearly I’ve got the constitution of a shire horse that I’ve not yet perished.

Anyway, if we invite you around for cappacino, perhaps bring your own.