Saturday, October 07, 2006

Our first fight!

It had to happen. DIY and two mildly mannered folk might work, DIY and one tired hungry crank and one tired premenstrual crank was bound to result in bloodshed, or at least pouting, snapping and the odd furrowed brow.
I bought a tripod clothes drying thingy. After lugging the blasted thing back to the house I took it outside to the wilderness and proceeded to read the instructions- that's right, instructions, and the instructions clearly state we need a concrete base for the stupid pole.
I curse a bit and presently the paramour joins me to see what I"m cursing about.
'We can just dig into the soil.' he says after I tell him we're short on concrete.
'It won't work.'
'It will, get me the hammer.'
'Where is it?'
'In the house.'
'I know it's in the house, where in the house?'
'How should I know, go look for it.'
We glare at each other. Neither of us go for the hammer. Who fucking digs with a hammer anyway?
'Can we bring this thing back?' he says toeing the tripod line with his foot. The price is clearly visible on the side.
'I dunno.'
'You don't know? WE just spent 60 Euros on this piece of crap!'
'Why don't we just string a line between that pole and that tree.'
'It will cut off half the garden.'
'I'd need a ladder to do it.'
'So go get one.'
'Mine's back at the house, do you want me to shit one out?'
'If you could that would be most useful.'
More glaring. The birds are silent and a stupid wasp buzzes slowly between us, wondering why we're not trying to bat it away. I hope secretly it stings the paramour, but not badly.
'I'm hungry.'
'Me too.'
'Let's go home.'
So know we're back here, eating mexican chicken wraps smothered in sweet chilli sauce. I"m on the computer and he's watching men talk about football.
The line can bloody wait, either that or we're getting a tumble dryer.


Blogger Sam, Problem-Child-Bride said...

That was your first fight? Blimey, we'd had about 17,000 of those before we got engaged. There again we'd been living together for 2 years before that.

Our first was over something small too and it was my fault. It was a few months after I'd moved to the US and I could tell something was up. I asked and asked but couldn't get to the bottom of it. I was completely baffled and getting quite worried. Finally I yelled something along the lines of "How in hell am I supposed to know what's wrong with you, you great, big twit?"

And then it all came out: I put short things on the tall shelf in the fridge; himself liked to only use one side of the soap in the shower so that even when it was down to a tiny sliver the name of the brand was still clear on the other side - but I favoured the roll it all around method of lathering, thereby erasing the letters; I loaded the dishwasher all wrong and we were going through too much toilet paper.

He was a bachelor, (confirmed, he may even had had some sort of a ceremony) before I met him and had never lived with anyone else before. I moved in and irritated the hell out of him. Anyway, I laughed, he didn't - we bickered again for a bit, then we both laughed and it was all OK again.

Since then, he has never had any problem telling me when something's wrong, and indeed sometimes gives me an itemized run-down of the things he disapproves of: Toilet paper - still an issue; how hot/cold we keep the house; the expense of eating organic food; and occasionally - when I've had enough and I'm feeling petty, I'll put something short on the tall shelf. Keeheehee!

9:55 p.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

Oh Duck egg, too full of rum to respond properly, but AH YES! He has lots of weird-to me-quirks and I him. He has all manner of things he finds 'nope', like going into shops if there is no one in there first and I don't like traveling over the wheel of a bus(it makes me travel sick) And he is very flippant, where as I take every word literally.
But...on the plus side- our taxi home this evening was driven by a filthy racist, and while both of us throughly agreed that she was vile it was in fact he who put her in her place, not once but twice, until finally she just shut her anti 'polish and black' yap.
So he is a delightful chap really, just real and most human. So alright, rows will happen every now and then.

11:42 p.m.  
Anonymous eva said...


THANKS for that little bit of true entertainment :-)

11:59 p.m.  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Making conrete is as easy as fighting. You need a spade to dig out a 1 foot x 1 foot hole (30 cm if you insist) and about as deep. A piece of plywood or plastic to mix concrete on. Something to hold water. Water. Portland cement (half-bag size, available in B&Q and such places), sand, gravel or pebble. Mix dry ingredients cakewise on board or plastic first in proportion 1 part cement, 2 parts sand, 3 parts pebble or grave. When your fun pyramid of dry ingredients is mixed, make a dimple in the top and pour in a little water. Mix like fuck. Repeat until all ingredients look like cake mixture ready to go into a greased tin at 120 degrees C. Plop a couple of spadefuls into the hole. Site washing line yokeymabouche in middle then pack around with remaining concrete mix. Use paramour's foot to tamp down gently all around. If yokeymabouche looks in danger of tipping over (it might be topheavy), lash a broom handle flat on the ground across the hole to the pole of the yokeymabouche and one at 90 degree to it going the other way. Use next ten minutes washing spade (really worth the effort). Throw used plywood or plastic sheeting over wall into neighbour's garden, or otherwise dispose of it. Wait 24 hours before hanging smalls on shiny new yokymabouche. Congratulations! You have just completed the first construction project in the new house!

9:16 a.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

Sam, when you say toilet paper fighting, it wouldn't happen to be oh say not putting a fresh on in the actual holder would it? Bathrooms are dangerous for couples. There is the underwear left in the bidet problem, the towl draped over the shower rail instead of on the towlel rail. There is the toothpaste spiting, the up and downess of a toilet seat... I have been most vocal on this subject before, I'm firmly against sharing bathrooms.
Thank you Anon, we will do that, trouble was we didn't actually have concrete to hand on Satdee.I might take a quick trip to Atlantic Home ware today and grab abag. Cheers.
Off to get the papers now, I do so love Sundays. Jesus that taxi driver, what a wench.

10:55 a.m.  
Blogger oldcrow61 said...

Hahahahahaha! Been there, done that.

11:12 a.m.  
Anonymous Bonnie said...

Wait, wait, wait. I'm still confused over Sam's boyfriend's problem with the name remaining on the bar of soap. If you hold the bar of soap in your hand and use the non-name side to wash with, isn't the palm of your hand rubbing the name away on the other side? And why, for god's sake, is it important for the name to remain? So when he needs more he can be reminded of what brand to buy??? And Sam, this wee bit of insanity wasn't enough to put you off of marrying him??? I'm not sure which one of you is crazier!!

6:39 p.m.  
Blogger Conan Drumm said...

Hold on... one very important bit of info re washing thingymabob installation.... do not put it directly into the concrete. Instead set a section of narrow pipe in the concrete, the diameter of the pipe being waide enough to closely fit the pole of the washing line gizmo. Then you can take it down any time you like, AND, if you buy a swingball set you can stand it in the pipe and play swingball instead of having an argument.
The toilet seat up/down issue is crackers, every man knows both men and women leave the seat in the position as used by them. What's the problem with that?

12:34 a.m.  
Blogger Dr Maroon said...

God what wimps.
Anon’s right, about a 5 to 1 mix of cement to aggregate. It’s the work of five minutes.
Go back to the shop and make sure you get the tube for putting the pole in. It’s that, that you set in the concrete, not the pole itself. It must be supported in the vertical [use a number 8 spirit level] while the concrete sets ( don‘t use much water). Ensure the level of the concrete is below the level of the surrounding grass to ease lawn mowing.

Sam, get your own soap and tell him if he uses it, you will slit his throat while he sleeps.

8:01 a.m.  
Blogger Dr Maroon said...

Sorry FMC. I meant aggregate to cement @ 5:1

8:02 a.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

The problem is that us ladies fall into the toilet in the middle of the night if the seat is left up.
Ah swingball. MY brother and I played many a vicious game of that, trying velly velly hard to knock each other out with it. I actually managed to crck Etheline with it in the cheek once too, but then I had to run for my life.

8:38 a.m.  
Blogger Conan Drumm said...

What myself and the estimable Dr Maroon should have made obvious is that the washingthingymabob has to be free to rotate in the prevailing breeze... I'd say the pipe set in the cement should be 1ft to 18inches in depth. I'm trying very hard (doh!) not to stoop to double entendres or other analogical allusions...

11:44 a.m.  
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