My wife and I are about to embark on a spot of what I have lovingly dubbed ‘inferior defaecation’.
Or rather, my wife is. It inspires her. It inspires me not.
Parts of our minds are muscled up by years of treadmill training. I have learned to write passable puzzles, exercising the compilation muscle. Others learn to garden, to chef, to architect, or the art of dentistification. I applaud them all.
Others still have learnt to inferiorly defaecate. I believe there are such things as pelmets; a discussion on the merits of parquet flooring over carpets leaves me cold; ‘fitting kitchens’ just suggests the word ‘thickens’ to me.
Then there’s wallpaper to consider. And Sundays in the Q at B & Q. And magnolia paint. And flat-packing. Every minute of inferior defaecation I am only aware of life ebbing away, romance absent, middle-age and mould creeping up like rising damp.
Perhaps I shall grow to love it, as one grows to love that aunt who once locked you in a cupboard for six days, pushing sops of her home-made Victoria sponge under the door morning and night.
I am always open to the possibility.
But I can’t wait for it to be over. I am so lucky to have all I need in life. and my health. Post-Inferior-Defaecation the clouds shall part. All shall be beautiful. I just need to remember that all is beautiful anyway. Today. All is perfect.
Best wishes, – and clues invited for ‘interior decoration’. I do love to hear from you all. Thanks to all who take the time and trouble to say ‘hello’.