One of my occasional pleasures is to prostrate myself on the balcony while she who must be obeyed wields a trimmer, scissors and assorted supporting instruments with the objective of keeping my facial hair in check. I am sure you can think of more exotic pleasures involving prostration on a balcony (I know I can); but these are the realities of marriage.
She does a good job, although her consistency is occasionally thrown into doubt when she mutters “oh dear” under her breath; or worse, starts laughing. I am given strict instructions to keep my eyes and mouth shut, following which she will attempt to start a conversation or point out something happening on the sea which really requires my attention. The trimming of the beard is then followed by an assault upon other lurking hairs around my ears and nose, finishing off with an unnecessary clipping of the eyebrows.
Still, it pleasant lying back and being tended to, the bliss only being interrupted by a passing cat who will climb over my stomach to see if there anything that can be interfered with. And there is: my bliss.
This morning she told me that I had a lot of hair over my lips, although she didn’t says “lips”, it sounded more like “lifps”. I repeated the correct pronunciation to her a few times to no avail; so I though of a similar word that would help highlight the problem, and the word I thought of was ’lifts'.
I put on my scholarly expression and asked her “OK, what do we have outside our door which we use to go down to the ground floor?”
Elevator.
Damn the American influence.
Comments 🔗
2009-04-01| Antonio Scott saysHi, I can
2009-04-01| Spike saysGood news! You can what?