The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1992 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“How did you get on with Moira?” asked Si as we got into bed.

“Eh?”

“Peter’s mother–you know, they visited earlier.”

“I know perfectly well who you meant. My impression of her–she’s a vacuous twit, who shouldn’t have been allowed to have children, let alone one as mixed up as Peter.”

“Miaow,” he said back smirking, so I slapped him on the arm which he pretended had really hurt and rolled about in mock agony on the bed. “You’ll have to kiss it better,” he groaned at me.

“Yeah, well I’m warning you now, if the pain migrates to between your legs and you want me to kiss it better, you could end up in a worse position than young Peter.”

He took a few moments to work out my latest threat and sat up saying that the pain had gone, just by being near me–so obviously I was a very potent healer. I always thought I’d make a much better despot.

“The dinner was lovely,” I said changing the subject.

“So was Tim.”

I leant away from him, “The lovely Tim, eh, is there something you want to tell me, Simon?”

Boy did he blush, I reckon I’d have seen him glowing in the dark. “No, you know damn well what I meant. He was good company.”

“You mean he likes Monty Python.”

“Well that as well.”

“So you spent all afternoon watching Monty Python videos?”

“Um–just one; The Life of Brian, well it is Easter.”

“How very observant of you–I mean observing some sort of Christian rite–even if it was the story of an everyday messiah.”

“You like the film as well,” he fired back at me.

“I don’t recall saying that I didn’t–it’s very good in its own way.”

“Well then.”

“Well what?”

“Oh shut up wifey, now are we going to shag or what?”

“If that’s your idea of foreplay, you need to read the Kama Sutra again, kiddo.”

“I didn’t read it the first time–it got boring.” He seemed embarrassed again.

“Oh did you–I found it quite enlightening.”

He gave me a curious look, “Did you?”

“Yeah, if I stood my desk lamp on it, the lamp shone down on the keyboard rather than the screen, so I could see what I was doing.”

He rolled his eyes, “I should have known you’d have some smart answer, shouldn’t I?”

“I take it that’s a rhetorical question?”

“Like yours?”

“Touché.”

“Gotcha,” he beamed at me while I tried to give him an inscrutable smile, a bit like the Mona Lisa, but she was probably staring at Da Vinci standing in his underwear while scratching his bum or worse. No wonder she had an enigmatic expression.

“You look very enigmatic,” he suddenly said and I kissed him which shut him up, well he’d actually recognised the expression I was trying to convey. What we did after that was definitely not enigmatic more energetic and I ended up having a little wash before settling down for the night, while my exhausted husband lay with his underpants draped around leg, fast asleep and snoring like a V12 lawnmower being tested in an oil drum. Getting to sleep was a challenge.

The Monday is a bank holiday in the UK, so I actually woke up and found Simon still fast asleep in bed with me. After I shoved my cold feet on him he woke up and I was able to talk to him.

I told him what Peter had said to me and he wasn’t very impressed. “he does have a very stereotyped view of sex and gender, doesn’t he?”

“I as good as told him that, if not quite so directly.”

“If he wasn’t thinking he was girl before he did it, why would he consider he was afterwards–it doesn’t make sense.”

“It does if you see your gender dimorphism in a very phallocentric way.”

“If I what?”

“I assume he sees the population as being divided as men having a phallus and women as not having a phallus.”

“Couldn’t you do that the other way as well: women have fannies and men don’t have fannies.”

“Or you could substitute brains for fannies,” I suggested.

“Women have brains, men don’t have brains–yeah–hang about, you cheeky mare.” He then rolled over and began tickling me and I had to fight him off so I could get to the toilet before I wet myself. Tickling on a full bladder is not funny, especially as I have to change the bedding.

I returned from the loo and he asked if I was making the drinks–I wasn’t going to, preferring to have a little cuddle with Si, but I made the supreme sacrifice and pulled on a wrap and went down to make him a coffee and me a cup of tea.

As I waited for the kettle to boil, I spotted a box with gift wrap on the table by my usual place. Curiosity having got the better of me, I wandered over and read the label. It was addressed to me and when I opened it, there was a bottle of Coco eau de toilette. I felt moisture in my eyes, this was my Easter egg from Simon. No wonder I loved him, he could be the nicest man in the world and usually he was. He could also be a total idiot, but not today–so far anyway.

I made the tea and left his coffee to brew for a moment, while I nipped to the study and collected the egg I had stored in the cupboard under the dresser. It looked like an ordinary Green & Black’s chocolate egg, except for one difference which I hoped he would discover–if he didn’t he would be likely to choke to death–perhaps I’d better check his insurance cover.

I took the drinks up and climbed back into bed, I kissed him and thanked him for my perfume, then handed him his egg. He looked disappointed, but tried to hide it, less than successfully. He kissed me and thanked me and lay there sipping his coffee.

“I couldn’t leave your egg on the table it would have mysteriously vanished by the time we got downstairs.”

“Yeah, I s’pose it would.”

“So aren’t you going to have a piece of it?” I teased.

“It’s seven in the morning, babe, I don’t usually eat chocolate until that time in the evening.”

“Yeah, but this special chocolate.”

“So?”

“So, eat some.”

“No, I don’t eat rubbish until after meals–I leave the indiscriminate consumption to you ladies.”

“Eat it–it’s good for you.”

“How can it be good for me?”

“Because if you don’t eat some I shall seriously injure you.”

“Cathy, that sounds remarkably like a threat.”

“Gosh, it’s amazing how coffee transforms that little brain, isn’t it? Now eat your bloody egg.”

“All right, keep your hair on.” He put down his mug of coffee and picked up the egg, pulled the foil covered bit out of the cardboard of the box and peeled open the edge of the foil. Then he pulled open the two edges of the chocolate and gasped.

He pulled out the little box inside the egg and opened it. Inside were two gold cufflinks with his family coat of arms engraved on them. “That is magic, thank you, wifey.”

He kissed me and I kissed him back, he kissed me back and I got out of bed. “What’s the matter now?” he asked looking forlorn.

“Nothing,” I said as I turned the key in the bedroom door lock and he chuckled.