It's official. We are the last in our street, if not the whole village, to mow our lawn. Up until last weekend, we were safe. Resting on our winter laurels for just that little bit longer. Because even though some overly keen mowers had already been heard, our next door neighbours, Herr and Frau NN, still had dandelions and daisies and ankle-high blades instead of a neatly-shorn emerald carpet. (And they do everything at the right time. Follow them, and you won't go far wrong in matters of Bovinian etiquette.) But then they did it.
I started my tactical approach to CG early. (It is always he who mows the lawn. Something that, like tinkering with any part of a car apart from the radio or glovebox, I absolutely refuse to do.) Like getting out of bed on a Sunday, or packing his bag for the gym, such things take him a looonnnggg time and you can practically see him floundering in the face of no more excuses, it's got to be done now. His discomfort is palpable. Hence my stealth tactics. Tradition - our own, I mean - dictates that I must ask him to do something at least three or four times before he does it. Taking this into account, and not wanting to rock the marital boat, I positioned my questions far apart. Other wives and girlfriends may be familiar with my method. Some of my 'questions' do not end with a question mark. Rather, they are light remarks, dropped into the moment like a feather from a balcony. They drift gently down, and eventually come to rest, where they get blown away again, to be forgotten about straight away. Which is exactly what CG does with my questions/remarks.
I'll give you an example:
Me - I see the NNs have finally mowed their lawn.
Him - Yes, I saw that. Would you like a cup of tea?
Or:
Me - Look! The people on the other side have done theirs, too.
Him - Yes, I suppose we are the last now. Do you know where my grey polo shirt is, by any chance?
I didn't let him get away with that last one, though. Partly, I admit, because I hate the grey polo shirt. It reminds me of everything I hated about school uniform in England. I said, we really ARE the last. Do you think you might, like, do ours soon? He put on his palpably uncomfortable, floundering for an excuse face. Then enlightenment hit him and joy lit up his khaki coloured eyes. I will, but not today, he said. Today is a public holiday.
I had to surrender. Nobody, apart from the weirdo down the road who likes playing with his chain saw at strange times of day, dares disturb the peace on public holidays and Sundays.
I am going back outside now to frolic in the dandelions while I still can. Every cloud, and all that.
I started my tactical approach to CG early. (It is always he who mows the lawn. Something that, like tinkering with any part of a car apart from the radio or glovebox, I absolutely refuse to do.) Like getting out of bed on a Sunday, or packing his bag for the gym, such things take him a looonnnggg time and you can practically see him floundering in the face of no more excuses, it's got to be done now. His discomfort is palpable. Hence my stealth tactics. Tradition - our own, I mean - dictates that I must ask him to do something at least three or four times before he does it. Taking this into account, and not wanting to rock the marital boat, I positioned my questions far apart. Other wives and girlfriends may be familiar with my method. Some of my 'questions' do not end with a question mark. Rather, they are light remarks, dropped into the moment like a feather from a balcony. They drift gently down, and eventually come to rest, where they get blown away again, to be forgotten about straight away. Which is exactly what CG does with my questions/remarks.
I'll give you an example:
Me - I see the NNs have finally mowed their lawn.
Him - Yes, I saw that. Would you like a cup of tea?
Or:
Me - Look! The people on the other side have done theirs, too.
Him - Yes, I suppose we are the last now. Do you know where my grey polo shirt is, by any chance?
I didn't let him get away with that last one, though. Partly, I admit, because I hate the grey polo shirt. It reminds me of everything I hated about school uniform in England. I said, we really ARE the last. Do you think you might, like, do ours soon? He put on his palpably uncomfortable, floundering for an excuse face. Then enlightenment hit him and joy lit up his khaki coloured eyes. I will, but not today, he said. Today is a public holiday.
I had to surrender. Nobody, apart from the weirdo down the road who likes playing with his chain saw at strange times of day, dares disturb the peace on public holidays and Sundays.
I am going back outside now to frolic in the dandelions while I still can. Every cloud, and all that.
