"It's ridiculous," says Cultured Mum. She's glowing round the edges - not obviously but the way an imperfectly fitting door gives a sense of the lit room behind it.
"What's ridiculous?" I ask.
"He ..... oh, he laughs at things I say. The way Tom used to. And he looks at me with these wonderful eyes. Tawny. Like cats."
Good grief.
Normally, the problem with Cultured Mum is bringing her back to the downlands where we lowbrows live, scrabbling a hand to mouth existence without recourse to Cultured Mum's encyclopaedic memory and lofty ideals which, like manor houses, are incredibly impressive but horribly draughty for anything other than a brief visit.
But for the first time I find myself desperate to elevate the conversation and stop all this subversive talk of eyes and laughter. If Cultured Mum carries on like this, she'll soon be onto moonlit evenings, candlelight and then, as far as I can see, moving straight into irrevocable action.
"And that whiney voice?" I say, playing what has to be a trump card.
"That's easily solved. I just talk more."
I'm not convinced drowning out 50% of the conversation is the basis for a long-term relationship but I suspect Francis might argue differently.
"So - how's Tom," I try again.
"Oh, Tom. The same as ever, really. Do you know what I think?"
Oh, boy. Please let it be about some hard to understand development in avant garde theatre.
It isn't.
"I think marriage vows shouldn't be about the big issues - better or worse stuff, but about the niggly things you're going to have to live with day in, day out. Take Tom. Every day I find matchsticks lying round the house. And I just know he's been cleaning his ears out with them. Now if the vicar had mentioned that I'd spend God knows how long - decades - making sure I picked up matchsticks by the striking end because the other end's all sticky, I might have thought twice about saying 'yes'."
"For all you know, Colin might do even worse things. Like - I don't know - picking the dry skin off his heels."
"This isn't about Colin," she snaps.
"You could have fooled me," I say. But that light's on again.
"We're going to see Wagner in a couple of weeks."
Dear God. All those mounting climaxes and leitmotives - a Teutonic version of 'I can't get no satisfaction,' stretched out over hours and hours. What is she going to be like afterwards.
Please, please don't let me have to find out.
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18 comments:
Sweet Omega mum,
I love your description of the glowing light around the door frame. You sound like an additional perfect member of the Bronte family! I wish I was poetic...
Dulwich Mum: I just know a cracking cliche when one whizzes by and strikes me in the subconcious
...or subconscious, correctly spelled. And I'm not sure it really rings true. It would form a square of light round her head, wouldn't it - so probably a bit silly rather than poetic. Or is this self-criticism gone mad? AAARGH. More wine.
Poor Tom. Although the match stick fetish does sound irritating.
Does Wagner feature crumhorns? I don't know, not being musical, alas. Perhaps they will they appear at another juncture in the evening.
M@L: Have never been able listen to enough Wagner to know for definite - but I'm sure that I'll be finding out soon.
I haven't heard talk about crumhorns since my days in Music History Class. Ah, a walk down memory (nightmare) lane.
Hey, I wanted to thank you for the review you did. (I didn't find an email, so I have to leave it in the comments.) I'm glad you had a different world-view from mine, because what good is it if you only get critiqued by like-minded individuals? I thought you were very fair and complimentary, despite not being interested in a lot of the content. You gave me a lot to be proud of, and some things to work on. Thanks for a great experience!
PS, you may enjoy my post on "Mommy Brain," tying in with the theme of "stupidity."
Sing for him: Thanks for your lovely feedback. I am so glad you felt that my review was a positive experience - I really enjoyed reading a blog which took a different slant from the ones I normally follow.
It's enough to drive a sane woman.....
Cheers
Brilliant imagery today OM!
mcewen: that's a lot of meaningful dots......!
M&M: High praise, indeed. Thank you.
Well, she has a point you know, does Cultured Mum. I mean, would you have been so quick to say the marriage vows if you'd known in advance that Francis was going to..... (but I'll leave that one to you to reveal - far be it from me!)
But whatever you do, pleaase try to steer her away from Wagner. The combination (and the idea of its perhaps being sung in a whiny voice) is simply not to be contemplated!
IB: She is right, that's what is so dangerous. It's an 'Emperor's new clothes' thing. You really don't want anyone pointing out all the imperfections of marriage - it can be contagious, especially with Bad Lindy on hand to offer drastic remedies.
I didn't think you were implying shape, OM, just equivalence. I loved it too.
I would infinitely prefer the Wagner version, versus the R Stones stretched out over hours and hours. Even their whole back catalogue. It would start ok, but then as they morphed into Rod Stewart in the 80s and then into a sort of Wings tribute band in the 90s I'd be increasingly desperate for a crumhorn to brain myself with.
Ahem.
Thanks, SAHD, for a lovely comment.I think I need to rethink my Rolling Stones vs Wagner listening policy, though not in the company of Cultured Mum or Colin the Crumhorn man. Though you are bringing me round to the idea of crumhorns as more than just a joke instrument.
Brilliant post. Love is blind. True love isn't blind but capable of inventive camouflage and screening techniques!
I particularly loved the draughty ideals. Isn't it ironic that it's the absolutes that so often have the most holes int them...?
around my kitchen table: 'capable of inventive camouflage and screening techniques' - that's a lovely phrase. Glad you enjoyed it.
the good woman: And the loftier those ideals, the further they have to fall, I suppose.
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