Mrs P went op shopping while George and I were at Bunnings. Photo / 123rf
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.
OPINION
One of the things about spending time on the road with your beloved is you rarely get a moment to yourself.
Don’t get me wrong. I absolutely cherish any time spent with the woman who has made my morning coffee just the way I like it for the past 100 years. Mrs P I mean of course. Not that young lady at the BP Wild Bean.
It’s just that very occasionally you need five minutes to yourself. “Personal time” I believe they call it.
When I say “they” I’m talking about the numerous counsellors, therapists and people who are called “wellbeing” advisers who seem to be all over the place these days.
Presumably you get charged a bit of dosh for the above advice from said people too. Relax Dear Reader, no charge for the advice from the pages of this good newspaper today.
Anyway.
In this personal time you are encouraged to do something you enjoy for yourself. The theory is you come back happy, fulfilled and therefore able to contribute to the relationship.
Pretty basic really when you think about it isn’t it?
So. Getting back to some personal time for Mrs P and I.
As you know we are now on the road for a year or so. I’m writing some life stories for people as we go. It’s a fuel money project so if you’re interested drop me a line otherwise I might be stuck where I am a while.
The thing about it is it’s perfect rainy-day work and, of late, that’s seen Mrs P, myself and George, the 12-year-old three-legged dog all crammed into our caravan together while the gods do their stuff with the climate outside.
Unfortunately, one of us is not big on the etiquette of such habitation and is snoring and farting quite regularly. I’ll give you a clue: it’s not Mrs P and it’s not me. Honest. Though it would be fair to say I have been accused of such misbehaviour on occasion. Ahem.
Consequently, we have decided we all need some alone time.
We basically don’t leave old George alone so his personal time was combined with mine and we went off to Bunnings where he had a good walk/hop - I walked and he hopped - up and down the aisles and he lapped up the adulation of the crowds as per normal.
Great rainy day activity if you’ve got a pooch I can tell you. Especially a three-legged one who seems to have worked out he can get a sympathy tummy rub virtually anywhere without having to try.
Sadly, I never got offered a tummy rub but I did spend some time staring at the many and varied power tools I’m going to buy. One day. When I get a proper workshop. Well, actually when I get a house with room to build a workshop.
And so while George and I were doing that Mrs P went op shopping.
This should come as no surprise to any of you who have read my weekly warblings previously. If there was a New Zealand representative team - the Black Ops perhaps - though that does sound like something sinister involving a shady CIA operation – Mrs P would be the captain.
Near where we are parked up this week there are probably six such outlets within walking distance of each other and so when I dropped Mrs P off I knew she’d be lost to me for a few hours at least. I swear you could actually see her eyes glazing over in ecstasy as I pulled up outside the first shop.
A couple of hours later George and I went back to pick her up. There she was standing kerbside with a bag full of goodies and an excited smile to match.
Now in our house, oops I mean caravan, we have a “One in. One out rule” This is to ensure our limited space does not get clogged up with items.
We had a similar rule when we lived in our house but one of us, I won’t say who, largely ignored it. Obviously, this led to some “discussions” from time to time and a rather drawn-out decluttering process when the time eventually did come to move on.
Anyway. In the caravan, space is definitely at a premium and so we - by which I mean I - are trying to be a lot tougher in regard to “the rule”.
I knew I would have my work cut out when Mrs P pulled out the first two items from her bag of goodies.
A black, hugely expensive brand merino top and an old DVD of the film Kate and Leopold.
Now Dear Reader, if you have found yourself in this position before I’m guessing you know the way to “play” this game.
Firstly the whistle goes and you are required to get caught up in the excitement of the purchases and listen intently to economic reasoning that makes absolutely no sense.
Let me know if this little exchange sounds familiar. We’ll get together and form a support group.
Mrs P, holding up the merino top. “It was only $15. Normally that would be $200 or more.”
Me: “Did you need it?”
Mrs P: ‘No. But I saved $185.
Me, perplexed: “So you bought something you didn’t need to save $185?
Mrs P, away with the fairies: “Yes. It was a bargain”
Me: “So, where’s the $185 you saved? I might go buy a power tool”.
At this point Mrs P decides I’m either stupid, unreasonable or just plain invisible and declines to answer.
Warily, you never know what reaction you are going to get, I remind her of the “one in, one out” rule.
It’s at that stage she informs me she’s seeking a dispensation.
It seems when we decluttered our house she got rid of, wait for it, a black, hugely expensive brand merino top and an old DVD of the film Kate and Leopold.
Apparently, they were donated to her favourite op shop near where we lived.
So, to summarise, she’s given away two items to an op shop and then not two months later gone and paid money for the same two items from another op shop.
“But I saved $185,” she says with hand gestures that express frustration at the fact I don’t “get it”.
In fact, the only thing I was getting was a headache so I excused myself for a few minutes and went and sat on the barbecue table by the rocks on the beach where we are parked up at the moment.
Eventually I was able to shake all the facts and figures from my brain and smile to myself.
Oh well. Life is too short to be concerned someone obviously wagged when she was supposed to be learning economics at school.
As if sensing the clearing of my mind, Mrs P sauntered over with a coffee and we sat together looking out over the beach. Kind of romantic really.
That is until we heard a ginormous snort followed by the biggest, smelliest belch you have ever heard.
Unbeknown to us a seal was having his own bit of personal time on the rocks below us about 10 yards away.
Gang patches can no longer be worn in public.