It cannot be said that we at the Home of Homes, my club, have failed to follow the cut and thrust of the daily news.
This can sometimes lead to harsh language amongst the members, especially when it comes to social changes long assumed to be rock solid. I can recall the battles over women joining our club as full members back in the late 1990s, which brought about almost inconceivable observations concerning weak minds.
Marriage, cruel Nature and the ‘wheel of life’
I was looking forward to my Wednesday queue at the club last week; I take great satisfaction in thinking I have aided more than a few mems to navigate their passage through the treacherous coral reefs of marriage.
Ever since I started my mid-week matrimonial “Agony Aunt” sessions at 10 bells sharp, I have heard things that might raise eyebrows amongst a coterie of Vatican cardinals. However I have never been judgmental, outside of perhaps a bit of shocked blinking on my part, and therefore my little get-togethers are well-attended.
Unfortunately the first chap up was our very own Brigadier, and a more boring man to listen to would be hard to imagine. He is a man obsessed with the fact that his still-fresh marriage to the much younger Constance had resulted, after a honeymoon said to have included several medical emergencies, with her throwing out his multitudinous salt-and- pepper-shaker collection.
He opened with: “She is at it again, by God!”
The Brigadier apparently had managed to hide a few dozen shakers, but they had been found. My mind began to wander in a natural attempt to prevent it from becoming numb, and my searching eyes fell upon a painting on the far wall of lions following a herd. This reminded me of my courting days so long ago, when I was paying panting attention to one Cecelia “Sissy” Cistern.
When I would arrive at the Cistern house to take Sissy to dinner in my chugging Austin, the entire family would be sitting with their TV trays and their TV dinners (Salisbury steak and unnaturally coloured peas) watching Mutual of Omaha’s animal slaughter. I was made to stand, my eyes averted with the dog sniffing my trousers suspiciously, while the bug-eyed family watched as one of the hosts describe in hideous detail a zebra baby dragged away by a lioness. They watched in rapture as the sound of crunching bones filled the air with the awful narrator talking about “the wheel of life.” I ran to the WC in distress, followed by the wretched dog.
When I returned, somewhat dizzy, with the damned dog sniffing me more enthusiastically, Mr. Cistern wondered if I was the sort of boy his daughter should be with, for it was apparent I did not believe in the wheel of life. The dog now had its snout firmly in my groin. The younger sister, a real blister, I can tell you, opined that Wolf the dog did not appear to trust me.
The room was once again assaulted by the grunting noise of a crocodile pulling a small screaming wildebeest into a murky swamp. More bones cracking. More “wheel of life.” I tore for the bathroom, once again chased by the blasted dog.
I returned with the drooling Wolf to a very skeptical audience. I gathered my name and reputation had been dragged through the mud like the baby baboon they were watching struggle. To top it off, the dog was attempting to demonstrate its distrust by wetting my grey flannel trouser cuffs. It was all too much for me, so I legged it to my little car surrounded by shouts of “the wheel of life” and chased by the appalling dog.
I sat in my auto as the dog flung himself against the car door and murderous family faces filled the bay window and wondered if I would ever meet someone who just liked me for me.
I never did. Instead I met Kitty and live in a comfortable state of truce. But at least I don’t have to watch the butchery of small animals with the sound turned up to a dreadful level, nor eat TV dinners.
The Brigadier was still droning on about his mismatched salt shakers and their reduced value, which his current wife cannot seem to grasp. When he took his breath I shouted:
“Next!” and ordered a well-deserved martini.
Copyright The Major’s Corner 2014
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What would you do if you were the government of BC in the midst of the present Teachers Strike? Many parents at this point would say “Pay up and settle the damn thing”.
I had an unusual splitting headache last week at the club (the home of homes) after listening to several members go on about this and that, but nothing really meaty to get one’s teeth into. Of course when one gets a headache at this time of life, one cannot help but think it might be the onset of a stroke.
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