I had an interesting afternoon the other day. I’m not sure whether it’s old age or what, but one thing I am sure of is a slight change of attitude in Old Mate.
I was doing my usual daily bird-butler duties which, on this occasion, was vacuuming. I was on the deck, happily plugging away, when dear wife starts telling me some bird story, but I couldn’t hear over the hoovering noise.
I might add that if I was to tell her a footy story when she was vacuuming, she would tell me to “shut up, I can’t hear you – can’t you see I am vacuuming?”. Obviously, the rules are different for me.
So, there I was. Because I couldn’t hear, I quickly turned my head in her direction … and cracked my eye and forehead on a really nice corner of a rough-faced house brick. The pain was agonising and, as I stood there squealing, with blood going everywhere, she feigned concern through intermittent laughter.
“Geez, you must be getting old – that wouldn’t have worried you when you were playing footy or when you were headbutting things when you were drunk?” she said.
By that evening, I had a nice bruise and a massive plaster above my eye, enjoying a couple of beers until the pain had subsided. Old Mate served dinner, actually yelling out: “Your dinner is on the bench” from her chair in the living room.
I grabbed a good-looking roast and some unidentified vegetables, whacked them on a tray and headed for the TV room with George the dog.
As I sat down, the plate went flying across the room, smashing to bits. I spent the next few minutes trying to beat George to the meat before I cleaned the mess up, with just a disgusted sigh coming from the next room.
Her attitude has changed somewhat, as normally she would have been in there, up my ribs about what happened, which A. would have distracted me from beating George to the good stuff, and B. made matters worse just by hammering me.
Did I mention I cut my finger on the broken plate, so there was blood everywhere as well? As I write this, I have two wounds, a new mat on my tray for better traction, and a wife who maybe has accepted her fate.