The Rural Voice, 1983-12, Page 504 r
There are some men, my partner in
wedded bliss included, who have a
habit of ogling what they have no
business laying their peepers on.
When I retaliate with a sharp elbow in
the breadbasket and throw him a look
that would freeze live meat in July, he
smirks saying, "variety is the spice of
life."
We all know this excuse has all the
validity of the urge to start a diet on
Monday morning. Men hate change,
especially in the household. What has
been there, will be there for all times
and must not be moved out of
position for any reason.
Men are such creatures of habit in
their personal lives. For a change I
bought some gel shaving cream
instead of the regular. When he put
his hand under the spout and held a
puddle of slimy green instead of
fluffy foam he went on and on about
it until I went out to buy the foam. If
the toothpaste he squeezes from the
middle of the tube comes out
anything other than white, he
squawks until I end up buying white
for him and gel ribbons for the kids.
His underwear must always be a
pristine white because Mom only
bought white underwear. The bunk
about variety being the spice of life is
only an expression that is handy when
they are drooling over someone's
body other then the one they married.
One night Super Wrench attended
a meeting and I had the
uncontrollable urge to rearrange the
bedroom furniture. It took quite a
while and a great deal of slugging but
I was pleased with the results. I went
to bed thinking of new curtains and
bedspread to finish the effect.
We have a simple rule around our
house if you get home late. Don't let
everybody know about it. That means
no door slamming, no creaking
drawers and no gargling when you
brush your teeth. Above all, you
don't flash on the lights. I had totally
forgotten about his habit of leaping
from the door into his side of the bed.
Well, he came home, did his Tarzan
jump from the door and the bed
wasn't there. From then on he broke
GISELE IRELAND
Variety is the spice
of Life
every rule. His language was loud and
he had the gall to turn on the lights to
upbraid me for moving his bed. He
demanded that I get out and move it
back. I wasn't too thrilled at having
been awakened to such caterwauling
so I refused. He proceeded to shove
the bed with me in it, his face turning
crimson with the effort. I gave in and
climbed out to help him. By this time,
four sleepy faces appeared at the door
to see what all the commotion was
about. The kids were treated to seeing
Mom and Dad shove furniture
around in the wee hours of the
morning, squabbling like a pair of
two -year-olds who both wanted the
same toy.
His humour in the morning wasn't
restored since he'd barked his shins
on a dresser that wasn't where it was
suppose to be while getting out his
white underwear. He sat at the table,
at his usual place, waiting for his
customary breakfast of two poached
eggs, toast and coffee. 1 placed before
his shining countenance a plate of
scrambled eggs, toasted muffins and
hot chocolate sweetly reminding him
that "variety is the spice of life".
From the way he stomped across the
yard to the barn I had the feeling that
he had taken about all the variety and
spice he could handle for awhile.
Gisele Ireland is a pork producer
from Bruce county and has a regular
column in The Rural Voice.
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THE RURAL VOICE, DECEMBER 1983 PG. 49