Kevin Page: Mrs P and I were in disagreement, and I started to wonder how we got there

This week Mrs P and I have had a couple of “disagreements” – one small and one big. Photo / 123rf

OPINION

Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales with a firm belief that laughter helps avoid frown lines. Page has been a journalist for many years and has been writing a column since 2017.

This week, Mrs P and I have had a couple of “disagreements” – one small and one big.

I’m sure once you get to the bottom of my rant, dear reader, you will turn to your loved one and say: “That’s exactly what we do.”

This is because like the vast majority of us, I’m sure, Mrs P and I are not immune to the trials and tribulations of married life that contribute to these instances of underwear getting tangled in a knot. Either singularly or many at the same time.

Thankfully we’ve been together long enough to have learned from our mistakes and, while one or both of us will generally go all quiet and sulky for a bit (sound familiar?), we tend to have it all sorted by the end of that day’s play and normal service is resumed.

Our “thing”, if you like, is a cup of tea together no matter what – which is a biggie for an avowed coffee drinker like me I can tell you – but it seems to take the heat out of things and help us reset. Sometimes we have solved the impasse and sometimes not. But 9.9 times out of 10 it puts us on the same page in terms of working towards a solution.

It usually means I’ve got to get up for a wee at 3am too.

But as I say, the cuppa together tends to work for us and my beloved hasn’t thrown a cup at me in all our years together. Yet.

Anyway. Let me fill you in on what happened.

First, let’s look at Disagreement No.1. The small one.

This past week we’ve had tradies in for a day and a bit and, as is our habit, we’ve decided to get them morning tea.

Naturally, what with me being a bloke who remembers the old days, I went to the bakery and returned with coffee and a mince and cheese pie for each. As you do. Don’t you?

Apparently not.

A filled roll or wrap with healthy, nutritious salad-type stuff and protein-filled chicken would have been more appropriate.

I should repeat here, as I’m sure I have done before, Mrs P is a now retired health professional who carved out a long career ensuring people lived the healthiest lives they could. Obviously, a mince and cheese pie, however you try to spin it, is not going to be high on the list of approved foods for a health nut.

In my defence, I had switched to autopilot. By which I mean I was thinking “builder = pie”. Simple as that.

Stupidly, I didn’t admit that and tried to suggest it wasn’t a biggie and before you know it we were having a “discussion” over the merits of such food which morphed into a discussion over my fondness for pies which led to my expensive weight-loss surgery 12 years ago.

I’m still shaking my head as to how we got there, to be honest.

A quick aside here. Talking to the old senior builder a day or so after, he told me he’s definitely a pie man but apprentices these days are likely to go down the wrap or healthy-eating route. Some are even doing yoga.

Anyway. We boiled the jug and sorted it out.

That was Disagreement No.1. As I say, not a biggie. More a warm-up for the main event.

This one involved me going to buy some new glasses.

Now, just setting the scene here. We are in the Big Smoke and went to the same place I got my current frames and lenses from. It’s handy, a place we visit often and they seem to have more choice.

It’s also the lair of a particularly aggressive saleswoman/business owner.

When I say aggressive I mean direct. Very direct, furrowed brow intensity direct, in fact. Unless you are on your toes you could end up in severe distress - financial or otherwise.

So, I was on my toes. One thing I’ve learned from 40-odd years in the media is sometimes you have to be, er, “firm” back. Not rude, of course, but finding your line and holding it.

Mrs P is a bit more, well, a lot more “sweetness and flowers”, shall we say.

So. We were in there and, right from the gun, directness oozing from every pore, the saleswoman was telling me what I “must” have.

Of course, I knew this is happening, and while Mrs P was becoming increasingly more mesmerised (in my opinion that is. She may think otherwise), I was focused on making sure I got the frames and lenses I wanted.

Eventually, the battle of wills shifted to a small table where the aggressive saleswoman was joined by a trainee assistant and we got down to the brass tacks and pricing.

I was told I would have to have all the whistles and bells on my new glasses (two pairs) and this would cost $1500.

Now, I don’t know what your glasses cost, dear reader. That may be a bargain to you. But to me it is a lot of money and I wanted to go away and have a little think about it.

Unfortunately, Mrs P didn’t. She wanted to do the deal there and then.

So what followed was an unfortunate discussion at a volume befitting the optometrist surroundings – I mean whispered – which became increasingly animated in front of the staff and another couple who were sitting there waiting for an appointment.

It was actually kind of funny now that I think about it.

I was trying to whisper my reasons without the saleswoman hearing – very expensive, need to get another price etc etc - and Mrs P was trying to tell me I was a stingy old fart who can’t see his hand in front of his face and needs new specs regardless of the costs.

Imagine having to mime all that. Especially the old fart bit.

Eventually, Mrs P and I reached an agreement.

She would leave the store disgusted at my attitude and wait in the car and I would break the news to the aggressive saleswoman and her newbie assistant, who by now I’m sure was thinking she’d chosen the wrong profession.

And so she did and I did.

Back home later on, after a bit of mutual sulking, it emerged Mrs P felt I was being too direct with the saleswoman and she was embarrassed. Never wanting to embarrass She Who Makes Me Smile ever, I agreed to work on that and she agreed not to accompany me on any future dealings with that aggressive saleswoman.

And then we had a cup of tea and it was all sorted. And, for the moment, I’m still an old fart who can’t see his hand in front of his face.

But before I go I must tell you of the great one-liner that emerged from the aggressive saleswoman as I left her premises.

Obviously disappointed to have not closed the sale, she told me I would end up spending a lot of money that day anyway.

She reckoned Mrs P had driven off and I’d need to go and buy a good pair of shoes for the long walk home.