I like to think that I am well and truly in control of what goes on in The House of the Flying Martinis. Cheekily, but usually fairly confidently, I also like to think that I am adept at handling my husband, the celebrated Meeester M.
Other people have noticed my ability to get him to do what I’d like him to do. Although I’m probably no better at it than any other wife. I draw to your attention this faked up magazine cover, designed by my sister, Misssy A, for his 40th birthday who has been studying Meeester with a wary eye for some time. (Click on it for a closer look)
In some of those coverlines regular and long-time readers of the Misssives may notice some stories I’ve told you about Meeester in this very blog, but the one I’d like to draw your attention to is this one.
It suggests that in the early days of our relationship that Meeester perhaps wasn’t so interested in the career side of life. Perhaps post Uni he worked for a short time in a patisserie wearing a straw boater and an apron whilst sporting a recently acquired Bachelor of Divinity from the University of Aberdeen. I can only assume some kind of loaves and fishes type link between the two enterprises. Perhaps he also got the heave-ho from that job by messing about too much doing Dick van Dyke impersonations to the customers with the aforementioned boater, “Jolly ‘Oliday” style. I don’t know, my memory isn’t what it was.
Perhaps he was actually quite pleased he got the boot and could spend more time playing his guitar and getting out of bed just before Countdown. If the world of pastry didn’t want Meeester then who was he to argue? “They told me I was too happy”,he said, which we all knew was nonsense as apparently Dick Van Dyke complained about breach of copyright and the late arrival of his pastry and cup of tea.
The coverline also suggests that I was the force behind him changing his ways and now having an almost 100% perfect attendance rate of his job as a teacher. It's true, I’ve never seen him take a bona fide sick day never mind pull a cheeky wee sickie to watch a football game like a lot of blokes do. He has a work ethic like I’ve never seen before. Apparently a few threats was all it took. Indeed.
The title also suggests that I can control the movements of my husband, and up until today I may have even boasted this to be true. Turns out I’ve been had.
For years Meeester has been banging on about turning one of our rooms into a music room. We have little room enough as it is. We are not Mr and Mrs Mozart, confident though we are that our son’s saxophone lessons might well lead to a secure retirement for us both, so good is his recent rendition of “Theme from the Flintstone’s”. I have been unequivocally against this development, particularly as the room Meeester has designs on is the room formally known as The Dining Room which I kind of need for, you know, dining in.
It started with some hooks going up on walls. “It’ll keep my guitars out of your road”. The scam begins. Then a music stand was put in the corner. Then a small amp tucked itself into another. A couple of years passed and the dining room table made its way into the newly renovated kitchen. A couple of years on a saxophone and a saxophone playing son took up residence. Then I was suckered into buying Meeester a banjo for our 10th wedding anniversary. A really nice banjo that looks great if left on display, as it happens. Some mouth organs, recorders and even a Stylophone gets chucked into the mix.
Then his plan all came together on Friday night. “My work colleague has offered us a free piano. She wants rid of it. I think we could put it in the dining room”. Now, as those who have been watching TV magician Derren Brown over the last few weeks will realise that what Meeester has been doing is a bit of auto suggestion. He’s still calling it the dining room, so that I won’t notice a thing. I’m like a rich widow at a séance. I believe every word.
The piano arrived today. There is now no dining table and no couch in this room. No eating ever gets done in this room. It has turned into the Music Room.
I have been well and truly scammed.Don't ever miss a Misssive, subscribe!