A woman should never complain when her husband is helpful. It’s bad form and she runs the risk of him refusing further attempts. A husband should be rewarded with respect and gratitude when he takes up his domestic hat, and dusts it off before making for the supermarket or the Marigolds.
It was to Costco that Whizz headed, on his way home from a hard day with a customer. I wouldn’t have done that, I’d have wanted to get back and watch the sun set with a gin sling, so I was very grateful and even felt a little guilty (It’s a generation thing) when I accepted his offer and gave him a fairly long list. What I didn’t say was,
‘Only buy what is on the list.’ It would have been disrespectful and anyway he often remembers something I haven’t.
When he came home he unwrapped his booty, giving me a running commentary. I responded with further declamations of gratitude until he reached the final item.
‘I bought some fajita seasoning.’ He told me with pride.
We like fajitas, well, I’m not that keen on them but they are quick and easy, low on washing up and nobody moans about them. The problem was that he had bought a product I had already tested on the family and they had found wanting. The jar on the left is the one I bought.
We’ll have to get used to it now, won’t we?
Time passed and apart from the occasional ribbing I’d let Whizz forget his small and to be fair, unusual error until today.
Events began yesterday when Whizz, unbeknown to me, was browsing E-bay for a drinks fridge. Something to take the pressure off our domestic appliance over the Christmas break, when we expect 6 enthusiastically alcoholic house guests for several nights.
The first example he found looked perfect, and with bidding at £5 odd seemed a bargain. There was an hour to go before the end of the sale and, not expecting to ‘win’ it he lobbed on £20. He won it, and today, rang the vendor to arrange collection.
I heard an exclamation,
‘Blimey!’ Through his office door, and assumed that something had gone wrong on a work job, but he emerged from his man cave giggling.
‘You know that fridge?’
‘Ye-e-es.’ I replied with a sense of impending dread.
‘It’s 5ft high.’
It’s also about 3ft 6in wide and deep. It’s huge.
My only consolation: it holds 52 bottles of wine, and a large turkey.