A Day Of Firsts

1 Jun

Today is the 1st of June. It is the first day of my work placement; the first time I have been out to work in twenty years; the first day I have been married for twenty-five years; the first time both of our boys have not been here to share our anniversary.

It is also a day of seconds: the second day of the week; the second set of twenty-five years in my marriage, and a second clock – this time, without a second hand.

Let me explain: when the Hub was the Fiance, I mentioned one day that I had always wanted a carriage clock. He promised to buy one for me when we were married. On our wedding day, he sent me a gold carriage clock, a single red rose, and a card that I have kept to this day. He also sent flowers for my Mum and a card to my parents, thanking them for me. The clock has been in every lounge I’ve lived in but is packed away at the moment, because of the decorating I did a few months back. I don’t like ornaments (apart from my clock and one another; more anon) because they gather dust and I have to clean them. The clock mechanism failed a few years ago and the Hub fixed it but it gave up the ghost again, so I set it at the time we got married – 3:25* – and gave it over to the dust bunnies.

*The wedding was supposed to start at three but I was a bit late, because I was starving and I stopped to make toast half an hour before I was due to leave for the church. I was a (UK) size 6 in those days; hard to believe, isn’t it?

This morning, I found what I thought was a jewellery box waiting for me but when I opened it, it contained a dinky little (working) carriage clock. It would have been silver but he couldn’t find one; I don’t mind because it matches my other one.

The Hub had also cut out 25 hearts from red foam and written a number for each year on each one. He’s such a romantic. It makes the kids sick.

Which leads me nicely into more anon: the only other ornament I like – love, actually – is a bunch of flowers made of metal and coloured stones, that Tory Boy bought for me a couple of years ago. It is pretty in a non-girly way; just how I like it. It represents the balance of power in this house. Spud and the Hub were throwing a ball in the lounge and I told them to mind my ornament. Spud pointed out that we’ve had loads of ornaments in the house over the years and his Dad had never broken any by throwing a ball so that made him the Boss (no, I don’t know what goes on in his head either). I asked Spud to look around and point out all the ornaments he could see that belong to his Dad. That soon wiped the smile off his face. All ornaments except my flowers are in boxes in the loft. The Hub buys something he likes and I tolerate it until it begins to crumble under the weight of a thousand sun sprinkles, and it gets packed away, ready to go in the Hub’s coffin with him one day. He’s going to need a coffin that works like the Tardis for me to fit them all in.

And there you have it, proof that she who wields the duster rules the world.

By the way, before you get to thinking I’m horrible, the Hub posted on my Facebook wall today that I was Goose to his Maverick, which effectively makes me the dead bald guy who slept with Meg Ryan.

And guess what I gave him for our anniversary? An ornament! A meerkat that has ‘I love dust’ written in sun sprinkles all over it. In a moment of weakness brought upon me by a rare glass of wine, I even promised, unprompted, not to pack it away when he wasn’t looking. I reckon I earned my 25 hearts; don’t you?

I welcome your comments but be warned: I'm menopausal and as likely to snarl as smile. Wine or Maltesers are an acceptable bribe; or a compliment about my youthful looks and cheery disposition will do in a pinch.

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