Ode to an old ball and chain

Gordon Robinson, Contributor

JUST BECAUSE the Old Ball and Chain had a bad day... It began with no water until 7 a.m. Despite her voluminous domestic staff, Old BC's mornings have started at 5:30 washing clothes. Now, only clothes washing can defeat rising before noon (tight photo-finish) in the Old BC loathing stakes; so, by the time I sleepily opened my eyes (circa 8:30), Fahrenheit's ability to measure her temperature had already been severely tested.

"The water's gone," she began in a tone not meant to be purely informational. "You'll have to bathe in the bucket again!"

Have you noticed how normally sane women can react violently to simple, candid statements of intent like, "Well, I'm going nowhere today. I don't have to bathe?" It can invite torrents of abuse usually ending with " ... For God's sake get a job!" Battles with hostile, water-starved washing machines had already succeeded in separating Old BC from reason and the differences appeared irreconcilable.

A word (or nine) to the wise: not a good time for the usually standard "What's for breakfast?" "You've no idea what I've been through since the crack of dawn while you've been snoring your life away. I'm not a slave!" Aluta continua ...

"I've no wish to hurry you luv

But have you seen the time?

It's quarter to 10 and we're supposed to be there at nine.

I don't think the registrar will be very pleased

when we show up an hour late like two frozen peas.

Both now facing for the first time, presently and past, something that begins with M and ends in alas.

More than not complete disaster even from the start.

What could it be ...?

It's Matrimony".

So, it's off to hide in front of the computer watching English horse racing until she departs, at which time one can fix a fried egg, bacon and cheese sandwich (hard dough bread, plenty butter, no tomato) with the morning coffee. Trust me, it's the perfect breakfast. And once you fry the egg in vegetable oil, who needs tomato?

Challenges outside the home

Meanwhile, Old BC's off handling minor chores, including paying the monthly GCT, delivering letters, banking duties and fielding calls from/checking in on her 82-year-old mother. The instant she leaves Casa Hermit, it's the kitchen for me, where the drill is to use as many clean utensils as possible, but vital that dirty dishes, pots, pans, etc., remain for her permanently resident offspring to clean when awake.

When Old BC comes off the road bearing lobster patties for lunch, I'm again hungry due to the heavy caloric loss involved in watching computers. Would you believe she's offended at my commenting that patties are appropriate supper fare not lunch? And, her unilateral decision not to cook appeared to me to cry out for Chinese or Italian takeout. Well, as a result of my mild protest, I now understand, with forced clarity, that it's hot as Hades outside my air conditioned study. It's now pellucid to me that two hour waits in tax office lines and the bank interspersed by encounters with foul-mouthed taxi drivers and New Kingston's parking challenges can take the edge off one's normally sunny disposition.

No chores done

And the sight of the untidy kitchen doesn't seem to help. How was I to know that her protoplasmic brood remained mired in vampiric slumber and hadn't done their chores? It's around this time I'm reminded of doe-eyed photos of brides regularly appearing in the press and my oft-repeated but never heeded lectures to young couples about the difference between weddings and marriages.

"I know how you've dreamt about

being walked down the aisle.

But think of the money we'll save

and you'll see it's worthwhile.

It won't please our mums and dads

but they don't even know.

Besides if they did, what's the bet,

they wouldn't even go.

You and me are all that matters.

Disregard the rest.

Trust your soon to be old man

He knows what is best

Very shortly now there's gonna be

an answer from you then one from me.

That's matrimony."

The corroborating lyrics are by the brilliant Irish hermit Raymond (aka Gilbert) O'Sullivan. So, readers mightn't hear from me for a while. It'll be because I've fled the country - not due to garrison walls' graffiti but, if I'm hearing right (the message was distorted by volume) - due to internal threat of upside down castration (dull machete); tarring and feathering; then I'm to be hung drawn, quartered and run out of town on a rail.

Peace and love.