Mrs P has a particular fondness for avocados. 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
This is a story about my wife’s backside - and a bag of organic avocadoes.
But before I start I need to clear up a couple of things in relation to me putting pen to paper - or should that be index finger to keyboard - when I mention the lovely Mrs P and various parts of her anatomy from time to time.
This is because I’ve had a couple of comments from some readers who have raised an eyebrow, in a literary sense, over some of the things I’ve said about She Who Makes Me Smile.
They are concerned I am making fun of my wife. The truth could not be further from the, er, truth.
It’s actually very simple. Nothing you read about Mrs P each week makes it to print without her approval.
Essentially, what happens is we sit down with a cuppa and look back over the last seven days.
With our crazy lives, and equally crazy whānau, there’s always something to write about and, eventually, I go into a trance - gin-fuelled or otherwise - and sit down in front of a keyboard. That’s when the magic happens.
Some time later I emerge with the number of words required to earn me the thanks of the editor of this very newspaper and enough money for a Happy Meal at McDonald’s. With extra chips.
The key component is, however, Mrs P’s approval.
I read the entire column to her first and, yes, she often screws up her nose when I mention her and, as I said, various parts of her anatomy. But that’s when she goes all Donald Trump and starts negotiating.
So, you see, I have to pay a price for any mention of Mrs P.
I won’t bore you with the exact contractual arrangement but let’s just say she wins. Always.
That’s why I find myself standing patiently by on a regular basis as we visit op shop after op shop or taking her to a show, providing a foot massage or, ahem, doing an erotic dance in my Superman boxers on a picnic table at an isolated rest area. Ahem.
And I mean very, very isolated so don’t bother to go looking for it on YouTube.
Anyway. Explanation over. Let’s get on with what happened this week and, more importantly, Mrs P’s bum.
Where we are staying at the moment there are a lot of those roadside stalls selling fruit and veg, that kind of thing.
Mrs P has a particular fondness for avocados - in fact, they help ease the effects of her ongoing illness - and thus I have found myself stopping on a regular basis and grabbing a bag or two.
Her eyes practically light up when she sees the sign advertising the little green goodies. Imagine what happens when they are advertised as “organic” too.
“Stop!” she has been known to utter in a less than melodic screech which would threaten the strength properties of any wine glass.
So the other day we are heading down the road and such a noise spews forth. Unfortunately, I’m away with the fairies, thinking about whether I should buy this fishing rod I’ve seen so I drive past without pulling over.
No drama, I reassure the agitated co-pilot beside me. We’ll do a U-turn and go back.
By this stage, my faculties are fully returned and I pull over, stop and then turn safely across the road. The manoeuvre complete, I pull up on the opposite side of the road to the avocado stall and Mrs P gets out.
There’s not a huge amount of traffic coming but, nonetheless, she doesn’t want to amble across the road. So she runs.
That’s when a shaft of light appeared from the heavens above. I swear I heard angels singing too.
As I stared, open-mouthed, out my open window, Mrs P crossed the road.
Elegance personified, she barely touched the ground as trim, taut and terrific legs combined in harmony to carry her effortlessly across the tarmac. And there, happily along for the ride, was the cutest denim shorts-clad bum I’d ever seen in my life.
So transfixed was I, my brain pushed the word “Phwoar!” straight out of my cakehole without needing any help from my vocal chords.
I sat there watching the scene for what seemed an eternity until My Beloved reached the other side. That’s when the drama started.
Long story short, somehow I’d pulled up 50 yards away from the little stand advertising organic avocados.
A flash of irritation spread across Mrs P’s face and she called out to tell me she’d walk up there to save her crossing the road again.
Disappointed I wouldn’t get to see her do a Baywatch-style, slow-motion, front-on run back across the road to me, I agreed to drive up to the stand and wait for her on the opposite side of the road.
Ten seconds later that’s where I was, watching her in my rear vision mirror as she walked up.
Looking across the road I could see there was just one bag of organic avocados left. And, just as quickly as that realisation hit, a car pulled up directly next to the stand.
Now the race was on.
Mrs P was 30 yards away, picking up speed. I was 15 yards away across the road and the lady in the parked car was maybe 10 yards from the goal but was messing around, looking for cash presumably, and had not yet got out.
I had maybe half a second to make up my mind. Which I did. And before you could say “possession is nine-tenths of the law”, I was out of the car and across the road, running past the back of the newly-arrived car as the woman finally got out clutching her $5.
I grabbed the last bag of avocados and was standing there just as Mrs P and the other lady arrived on the scene.
Now I don’t know if you’ve ever found yourself in a situation like this Dear Reader but, it has to be said, it’s a little uncomfortable.
There I am literally holding the prize, looking like a complete A-hole because I’ve just run across the road to grab the last bag ahead of two women. Remember, at that stage, the other lady didn’t know I was grabbing the all-important avos as a sign of love and affection for my beloved.
For a moment she eyed me with fury in her eyes. She looked at Mrs P and, to my surprise, the latter gave her an empathetic look in response and for a couple of seconds I stood there in front of two women who looked like they wanted to beat me to death.
Eventually, Mrs P couldn’t keep her face straight any longer and saved me by explaining the situation to the lady. She even offered her the bag of avos. Thankfully the woman was a good sport and headed off without slashing my throat with the sharp edge of the $5 note.
Back in the car Mrs P was in hysterics at my earlier discomfort and suggested an apology of sorts by offering to provide me with some avocado on toast.
Naturally, I declined. Avocadoes are not good for my weight.
It goes straight to my bum.
Gang patches can no longer be worn in public.