Ground Open And Swallow Me

Thursday late morning, early afternoon, was spent at Kelly’s. She has been busy, getting down to making invitation cards and favour boxes. They’re the boxes used for sweets at a wedding, if you are unsure. I think traditionally, the boxes contain 5 sugar almonds, symbolising, health, wealth, fertility and two other things… happiness and errmmm… maybe white electrical goods. I can’t remember what the 5th one is. Most people go for mints these days, sugar almonds are not really popular, and with good reason… Yuk spit ‘em out!

Kelly has made a few little designs, and having said “Yeah, they’re nice” once, I had to repeat numerous times, each time getting louder “YES THEY ARE NICE”! See, the louder you speak, the nicer they become. But to be fair, she only wanted some reinsurance’s, and I thought 100 reasurrance would do the trick… seems not, more were required…

“You sure they look OK”?

“Yeah, they’re nice”

“You sure… you’re not just sayin”?

And on and on and… you get the idea. So, to show I am not lying, we are going to display them in the shop… for all to see.

Our business meetings are possibly not what you might expect. I believe in the real world, meeting rooms are set aside, with a table to sit around. Ours tend to be slightly more relaxed affairs, with me curled up on a sofa, and Kelly sat behind her desk. I can’t see her from where I am, because with her being small, she’s hidden from view by her PC monitor… but hey, we get there, somehow.

Then there are the visitors, her dog drops in for a slobber, a duck maybe, odd nameless water fowl trot by, on their way to the pond… it’s pretty different to how “meetings” have been described to me by others.

Just before lunch, one of Kelly’s friends dropped over, which really called time on our meeting. She had been working over this side of the Pennines, and had arranged to drop in when her work was over. It does get kind of boring describing friends and acquaintances, because I guess, personality wise, we are all pretty much the same. You couldn’t do our job if you weren’t an outgoing friendly type. It isn’t a job for wall flowers after all. So, Danni, and that is her real name, who has replied on here once, is one of those out going chatty types, who I guess would fit into Matty’s idea of top totty. Annoyingly attractive, well not so much attractive as… I wanna cry! We need some ugly friends, quick fast!

One of the conversations, was about her relationship, which is now two years in… I am guessing at some Valentines romance thing, which began two years ago. Someone has told her, two years sees the end of the “Honeymoon Period”. Now, I was told the “Honeymoon Period” only lasts six months… someone then, is obviously lying. This initial period in a relationship, is when every day is lust day, everything in the garden of luuurve is rosy, and neither can do any wrong. Then… it dwindles into some sort of other period, which does not have a name. Sex becomes a Saturday night and birthday thing… possibly done during a spell of TV adverts, and eventually ends up as an annual, or bi-annual meeting of genitalia. This is the Law!

Apparently, this transformation from being humped at any given moment, to being humped only on rare occasions, is so gradual, nobody notices. It’s like grey hair, it just creeps up unnoticed… and what was once “The whole reason”… becomes a bit of a chore. Apparently,  as life goes on, sex becomes something which is planned, something which people do not find time for, and this is where Honeymoon ends, and whatever the next stage is called kicks in. Kelly reckons it is called “Post Honeymoon”… which, to be fair, sounds pretty good to me.

So, I have done 2 and a half years now. Which means, I am either 2 years “Post Honeymoon” or 6 months… depending on who you believe. Kelly is 5  years in… so she is obviously getting pretty much nowt! Unless it’s Christmas, which it isn’t. So, is all this Honeymoon stuff true, or is it just some old wives tale?

Well, to a degree, I guess it is true. You can’t really keep up the pace of the first few weeks in a relationship. I think one of us might have died prematurely if we did. But, in my mind, if you get into a routine, that’s the rocky road to Stalesville… things go off the boil when romance is planned. Spontaneity is the key… and there is no law which says you have to be horizontal or surrounded by pillows.

I have a friend who lives in a town just outside Manchester, where Manchester meets Lancashire at it’s Northern boundary. She’s about 10 years married now, she’s a bit older than me. But her husband asks in the morning… “Are we on for tonight then”? And she finds that a little off putting. I thought it was funny, it’s like making an appointment… in fact, it is making an appointment. He was put off spontaneity by being shouted at once, while making advances while she was cleaning the kitchen floor. So, the boredom of being “booked” and him seeing everything as a route to an argument, has led to a not so happy home.

I don’t know who is right or wrong in this case, I have only had her side of the story… but booking a slot (pardon the expression) isn’t really a turn on. I mean, how long do you need to book? I’ve got from 7pm free at the moment.

Between the 3 of us, we established that the “Honeymoon Period” is a load of old tosh! While things change, and they do, it’s really an individual thing. It can’t really be measured by time, because everyone is different.

My folks came over on Thursday evening, but Matty and I had gone to the pub, up the hill, for tea. We were watching the football match on the “Big” TV, when, my Mum phoned to find out where we were. Our cars being parked, and the van sat at the church hall car park, gave the game away, that we hadn’t ventured too far away from home. So, they joined us for a drink, and then we wandered home.

In the kitchen, making drinks, my Mum passed me an envelope…

“Whats this Mum”?

I opened the envelope, and inside, a bundle of £20 notes…

“I’ve given up dealing drugs Mum, what’s this for”?

“Buy yourself a washing machine”!

“I’ve got money for a washing machine… here take it back”!

“No, take it… it’s our treat… from me and your Dad”!

“Jeez… well thank you, I’m kinda shocked… but anyway, thanks”!

So a big hug, and she’s given me £300… which will go some way to buying a super duper, fast spin, washing machine… Do you think she thinks I am poor? Anyway… it was a nice gesture. Mums are funny creatures sometimes.

I baked some tarts and cookies the other night. The tarts lasted about 30 minutes… all gone. My man is a dust bin, hybrid tart vacuum cleaner. But the cookies are still in a tin, most of them. I made them for Valentines day, in heart shapes… but what nobody else knew, was I iced them, with bright red icing. Now, my folks knew I had baked, so my Dad asked… “Any of those tarts left Sarah”? to which Matty answered… “No they’re all gone… but there are some cookies left… they’re in a tin near the kettle”!

Noooooooooooooooo don’t open the cookie tin!

So, my Dad returns, and sits down with a plate of cookies, and offers one to my Mum, who takes a look, and then takes a bite, and looks at me… and I make out I didn’t see the look… and carried on chatting. But in the end, I had to ask…

“So… which cookies did you get Dad” ?

“Two Willy’s and one which looks like lips or something… your Mum has a Willy too”!

“Sorry ’bout that Dad… Mum”!