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| Courtesy of rosezombie - FreeDigitalPhotos.net |
Relationships evolve over time. Thirty-three years ago, the
future Mrs Jones and I met in a social club at the hospital where we both
worked. Like any couple in the early stages of the mating ritual, we were each
on our best behaviour: no farting in front of each other; swearing restricted
to exclamations; and bowel references were no more graphic than the occasional mention
of an ‘upset stomach’.
Nowadays we are less inhibited. I share the following
scenarios as illustration:
- Mrs Jones returns home from work and enters the living room where I’m tip-tapping away on my laptop. My attention is drawn to the twitching of her nostrils. She looks directly at me, accusingly, and asks, ‘Have you shit?’
- Together on the settee, watching television.
‘I wish you’d stop fidgeting’ I
say.
‘I can’t’ she says.
‘Why, what’s the problem?’
‘My arse is stinging like a wasp
with a cob on.’
But last week, while we were sitting at the table eating our
evening meal, Mrs Jones made a comment that indicated to me how three decades
of co-habitation had transformed the nature of our relationship. The rhythmic
clicking of stainless steel utensils on ceramic plates, mixed with the
occasional slurping of wine, were interrupted by the never-to-be-forgotten
comment:
‘Move the condiments nearer to me; my tits keep flopping in
my Bolognese sauce!’
