225. In love with …

 ‘I think the butcher’s in love with me.’

I’m back from the market and these are the words I greet my husband with. If these words don’t get his attention I don’t know what will. Strangely enough he is busy cleaning the lounge, desperately trying to get rid of the fine layer of dust that is covering everything in the house from top to bottom, the result of weeks and weeks of sanding the stairs. He is also clearing away all the bags and boxes of stuff Baby and I brought back from our holidays. I am thinking that if a man is doing a serious clean of the lounge it might be a sign for a harsh winter coming. I make a mental note to order wood. Lots of wood.

I don’t get much of a reaction. He raises his head but does not switch the hoover off.

‘When I got there there was no-one and he said to me: ‘I was waiting for you!’ So maybe he’s in love with me. What do you think?’

‘How much did you spend?’

I tell him.

‘Well, I can see why he’s waiting for you.’

Maybe there is some truth in that. That’s when he notices the white lilies and the red roses.

‘Is that from the butcher?’

Now that is a reaction. 

‘No. They’re for you. We are a modern couple: you clean the lounge, I buy you flowers.’

He laughs and then turns his attention back to the rug. I wheel my cart down the corridor and decide to access the kitchen via the garden. I arrange his flowers in a vase.

I have planned a candle-lit dinner, complete with white table cloth and flower arrangement, for the evening. On the menu: steak. Hence the visit to the butcher’s. Later on, as I am busy getting everything ready Baby walks in.

‘What’s all this?’ She says as she walks past the table. ‘Can I light the candles?’

She gets the matches and does the candles. 

‘It looks like you’re having a date. I want to have a date too.’

I’m a little shocked at these words: Baby! Wanting a date! Oh my. Everyone is growing up a little too fast these days. And my husband is hoovering the lounge. What on earth is going on? Have I missed something?

‘Your butcher has excellent meat!’ My husband says as he tucks into his perfect cut of steak, perfectly cooked by me. He knows me well and adds quickly:

‘And perfectly prepared and presented.’

A quick glance at me to see of I’m happy about the praise or if he has to go on and lay it on a little thicker. He decides to focus on my new hero.

‘But I must admit, your guy knows his job! Best I’ve had for a long time.’

‘He’s really interesting too … telling me stories about his grand-father also a butcher and how, during the war he killed the animals in secret, hiding it all from the Germans … Once they searched the house for a pig, all the way to the attic and they were all so scared … These stories would be good for my Simone blog … ‘

My husband only cares about his food right now. He agrees I have to keep buying the meat there, but reckons he is charging a bit much and so maybe next weekend he’ll come to the market with me.

And I smile. Now and again you need to help your man refocus.