65 — Proper
When I got up this morning, Dennis was sprawled on the couch. Lazy git, watching TV, hadn’t even got me coffee.
“Oi!” I barked, “What’s so interesting?”
“Oh, got this DVD off of Harry,” he mumbled, “Wanted to check out 5 minutes before work, so I can hurry up and give it back if it’s crap.” I read the box. The Perfect Housewife, it said, next to a picture of some tart dressed up like it’s the 1950’s. Lots of makeup, just about enough clothed that you can tell what era its supposed to be, without being at all decent.
“I don’t think you want to watch that,” I snatched it off him, “Thank God you’re too lazy to turn the set on yourself—”
“I was just reading the box!”
“—or I’d have to plant my heel in your balls for bringing this junk into my house. You and Harry both! I know what Debbie is going to say when I tell her about this!” The slob grumbled, but managed to drag his sorry ass off the sofa long enough to grab a coffee and some cash for lunch. I keep on telling him to take a packed lunch like I do, but that would require some kind of planning, not to mention effort. At least he wasn’t pinching my lunchbox today. The salad probably wasn’t to his taste; he’s never been health conscious and balks at the idea of a decent vegetarian diet unless it’s the only thing handy.
As soon as he was on his way to the station, I was on the phone to Debbie. Our husbands worked together, so we’d had some cause to chat before.
“Oh no,” she giggled like a schoolgirl when I mentioned the DVD, “It’s practically historical, not some chauvinist exploitation thing. I know what the cover looks like, but seriously, it’s okay. It’s by some guy who’s a doctor, ton of letters after his name and everything.”
“You sure?” I knew she had a busy day, and I wouldn’t have put past the men to try some kind of bluff. She was smarter than that though, wasn’t she? “Have you watched it yet?”
“No, I was going to get to it this morning, but Harry’s got a big presentation at work, so I wanted to do him something extra special for dinner. I’m covered in flour like you wouldn’t believe, I think I know now why chefs get paid so much. Why don’t you give it a look, and tell me what you think?”
“Yeah, I can probably take the morning off work because Miranda’s out of town and we’re all waiting on her feedback. Nothing better to do, anyway.” We exchanged pleasantries, but I was too polite to ask what kind of presentation justified cooking dinner. I know Harry liked pie much more than takeout, but he must be getting a huge raise to justify a whole day of effort on cooking. Eventually she had to leave the phone because some timer went off, so I turned to the TV.
Whatever else you might say about that Perfect Housewife series, it’s really engrossing. I was planning to maybe watch the first chapter, or episode, or whatever before going to get my nails done, then meet up with my friends and do lunch in the park before work. But by the time I glanced at the clock, I was four episodes in and it was too late for a proper manicure. I’d have to get one tomorrow, before Dennis noticed. He’d be awfully disappointed if I didn’t look my best.
That left me with a big choice. I could head to work, fight the midday traffic, rush lunch with the girls, and then spend the afternoon keying records. Or I could eat in comfort while watching another episode of this oddly intriguing study of the motivations of a housewife, then drive to work when the streets were a bit clearer, and arrive at work in a good state of mind. As much as I liked the company of the office wasps, that decision was a no-brainer.
When the DVD ended, it was after 2. “Just one more,” it turned out, is a hard promise to keep. In the end, I decided to phone in sick. I wasn’t used to lying to my boss, but sometimes it’s the easiest way to get the situation resolved. It’s not like I could get there in time to do much anyway; the other option was maybe a half hour getting chewed out by the boss, and then only half an hour of work left before I’d have to rush home, if I was allowing time to buy last minute groceries and still get dinner cooked at a reasonable time.
After the DVD extras, I did get to the store at last. I grabbed some meat, veg, potatoes. Nothing fancy, but at least with the basics you never have to worry about making some mistake with the recipe. Once I was home, it was straight to the kitchen. I didn’t know what it was got me in the mood to cook. Maybe imagining Debbie making a big pie for her man, and his huge smile when he could smell fresh baking before he even got to the door. I know it was only in my mind, but it was a long time since I’d made Dennis smile like that, and I felt an urge to please him tonight.
Once the meat and veg was cooking, I decided to give that DVD a look while I waited. It sounded so interesting, but I couldn’t quite remember what it was about. I hit play and wrinkled my brow in confusion at the title. The Perfect Housewife. Wasn’t I already perfect? Was I letting him down in some way? I’d have to watch this, and see if I could pick up any pointers.
I almost squealed with delight when I heard footsteps on the porch. It was 7 already, where had all the time gone? It was nearly time for my beloved husband to get home. I’d got so excited looking forward to seeing his face. He’d had a hard day at work, and a nice dinner would mean the world to him. It wasn’t Dennis at the door, though. It was our neighbour, Carlotta. Too late, I remembered that it was our poker night; rescheduled so that Casey could invite the hot fireman who’d just moved in at number 17.
“Sorry,” I babbled, “I’d completely forgotten! I won’t be able to make it tonight, I’ve only just got dinner ready, and I was going to try and do something decent for Dennis’s lunch tomorrow.”
“Can’t he make his own?” she seemed somehow suspicious.
“No way,” I shook my head emphatically, “he spends enough time slaving away all day at work. He needs a chance to relax, and he’s earned it. A good roast, the fame on TV, and whatever he wants from me. I’ve let Dennis down too much lately,and I’m not going to do it again.”
“That jerk doesn’t know what he’s got,” she pouted, and I had to fight the urge to give her a slap for talking down about my man, “You do so much for him, and he still tries to cop a feel every time he’s behind me in the queue at the off license. If I was you, I’d be kicking him to the kerb. Anyway, what am I supposed to do if you can’t give me a ride to Naomi’s house?”
I was going to suggest she hangs out with someone who won’t set such a bad example (I suspect that Naomi might be some kind of feminist behind the veneer of a happy marriage), but then a sudden idea came to me. I’d realised that the DVD I’d watched today was eating into my work time more than I’d hoped, there might be something a little unusual about it. I’d need to get away from it, or I might end up not finishing my household chores on time someday soon.
“Have you seen this video? It’s pretty awesome.” She seemed a little put off by the image on the front, though I thought it was quite stylish. I guess as an unmarried young woman, she didn’t realise how tough it could be to keep a man happy. I talked her around, though, saying that I’d been amazed how funny it was. Her husband would thank me sooner or later, and until then I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d appreciate a little practise.
Now that was the surprise I’d been hoping to give my man.