KEY POINTS:
It had to happen, but why do personal crises always occur right on Christmas?
After the kind of romantic bliss of which a girl can only dream - when I was his one true love - he's found another.
It breaks my heart, but I can't say I wasn't warned. I thought this time it would be different; I could change him to suit. How many women have fallen into that trap? (Don't answer).
I must admit, he was a bit nervous about moving here, accustomed as he was to the stimulation of qualified fancy women and professional men who enjoy swapping favourite war stories at day's end.
But I thought the change of lifestyle would be good for him. Sure, I tend to slop around in gumboots or jandals, weather depending, and it can be a bit isolated, but heck, we had each other and every day he told me how much he loved me.
He was always thrilled to see me, showering me with kisses, adoring the
way I could always soothe and calm him after a day of stress. I prepared his favourite meals - ordering the best food from afar - consulted experts over his health and fitness, and now his affection's been taken by another.
Can't say I blame him - she's very pretty - young and with a smarter pedigree than mine. I catch them looking furtive, heads together, too close to be "just good friends".
It's all in the body language - women know that, to their eternal sorrow. Would that we could turn a blind eye, but that's not in
our gender.
He acknowledges my existence but I should accept the inevitable; I've
always known horses are herd animals and Smitty would naturally prefer a
four-legged friend. So now he has Lily, a bay, thoroughbred/Clydesdale mare who joined our menagerie this week.
Ever-resourceful though, I picked up my shattered self and did what
women do when they're glum - went shopping.
In the midst of a financial crisis, we're urged to shop without guilt. No more sneaking yet another little black dress into the house mumbling something about finding it on Trade Me.
Easier said than done in New Zealand, where too many retailers don't realise it's not business as usual.
Telecom, for instance, mailed me to say they'd "like to offer a choice of two gifts" - either a new mobile phone, or half-price calling and a voucher.
But when a Telecom rep phoned to follow up ("Am I speaking with Mrs Car-rooters?") I told the salesman that despite living only 6km from the world's pinot noir capital, my mobile reception is nil. He couldn't cope with that and hung up.
So I went to town, to Auckland for starters, where phones work. Into a trendy gift shop in Karangahape Rd, with an exotic name I've forgotten.
The saleswoman was on a personal phone call: "Yah, yah, you gonna take a stall? I dunno - last time she didn't pay me", and so on for the entire time I wandered around the shop, choosing items to buy, until I finally
put them back on the shelves and walked out.
In Wellington, I've filled my new house with furniture from Early
Settler, where stuff looks like Cavit & Co, but costs a fraction of the price. Couches, beds, outdoor furniture, chairs for the grandkids, bathroom stuff - the bottom line has been boosted by our purchases
but in the end our good-customer status counted for nought.
Two stools, paid for but not received after five weeks (their mistake), could not be delivered to me, the man insisted, because of the cost.
And I'm sorry Placemakers - you can't tempt me with a free ham. I'll never return after waiting in the checkout queue only to have the
salesman put up the "this counter is closed" sign when my turn came, because it was time for his break.
Consumers hold the balance of power now, in case the market hasn't
noticed. I won't buy Charlie's fruit because I don't want stickers on my
lemons. I'll never get Just Juice again because when you finally master the lid packaging, you've almost expired of thirst. I flagged Whitcoulls when a staffer told me he doesn't read books.
Not that my little boycotts will make much difference, and sometimes the good guys lose. Little Brother, unfortunately, has just closed its retail outlets and that's a shame, since High Street Little Brother
went out on a limb to find a satchel, pack it and send it direct to my son in Sydney, for little extra charge.
Meanwhile, up the road at Mac, I couldn't buy nail polish because opening time was five minutes away.
So much for shopping easing a broken heart, or maybe my vexation is
simply the manifestation of a woman spurned.