Occasionally the postman staggers to the door with a package containing a product I don't enjoy, normally because it isn't for me. Even more occasionally the postman staggers to the door with a product that is not only not for me, but it is actually abhorrent to me.
[Insert generic slap it all over tanning brand here] fake tan lotion has arrived. This product is not for me, it is for the Dear Lady Wife. She has been summoned to an outing of some description which means she must appear. This is not an ordinary outing, this is a major outing, not just your ordinary trip to the pub. Think hen-do, wedding, that sort of thing. Given the significance of the occasion a number of pre-outing rituals must be observed, namely...
- Nails - potentially
- Hair - obligatory
- Waxing or shaving - the mere thought makes me shudder so I will not dwell
- Shopping, online - a whole host of objects are required that bizarrely the Dear Lady Wife appears not to be in possession of...
- Hair products
- Moisturisers, balms, ointments and other unguents to be applied to face, hands, skin etc.
- Shopping - in a shop if the on-line world cannot provide what is required
- Visit to tanning salon - optional, or go for the alternative with more control which has arrived in the post today.
These rituals, ideally, take place in a period of about a week before the event. This is often not the case, though. Sometimes a dizzying number of appointments are made by the Dear Lady Wife for the same whirlwind day. Sometimes appointments have to be cancelled, which is my job, when I am not answering the door to yet another delivery man or being sent to the shops to make bizarre and embarrassing purchases.
If I have a purpose in life, it must be to provide entertainment to bored shop assistants when I am making these bizarre and embarrassing purchases. When I approach the till with two bottles of wine, a bottle of bleach, cat food and a bikini-line waxing kit in my basket, a number of things can happen. I have listed them below in order of probablity, least likely first.
|Don't worry, I'll be along soon to brighten up your day.|
- The transaction takes place normally, money is exchanged and I leave the shop, glowing with pride at a job well done.
- Whilst scanning the waxing kit the (always female) shop assistant will look me up and down but says nothing. I leave the shop feeling confused and slightly violated, but I don't know why.
- Whilst scanning the waxing kit the (always female) shop assistant will point out a special offer. If bought in conjunction with a box of regular tampons I can save 50% on this item. This only occurs if there is a large queue behind me. I have to gracefully decline.
- Whilst scanning the waxing kit the (always female) shop assistant suggests an alternative brand which she has used before. This only occurs if there is a large queue behind me consisting entirely of male rugby players and builders. Again I gracefully decline, which the shop assistant takes as a tacit acknowledgement of her perception that the waxing kit is for me.
- Whilst scanning the waxing kit the (always female) shop assistant encounters a technical issue which will require the pressing of a button below the till. The button is labelled Attract the attention of all female shop assistants in the vicinity to come and giggle at the contents of this man's basket. Oh, can one of you also go and get another bikini waxing kit because this one won't scan.
My involvement in the rituals is not complete. So, after some considerable time, I have reached the point of my tale, [insert generic slap it all over tanning brand here] fake tan lotion, more specifically, the application of it. Generally this happens just before retiring to bed which means we have gone through the wine and most of the cat food. Wine and the application of fake tan do not make good bed fellows. Any slight mishap will stain something, carpets, ceilings, phones, cats etc.
The Dear Lady Wife, having covered all the bits she can reach then turns to me, offering the gloves and the bottle. I have to do the bits she cannot reach and also, cannot see. However this does not prevent a running verbal quality assessment of my handiwork.
DLW: It has to be even.
Moi: It is even.
DLW: You've missed a bit.
Moi: Is that better?
DLW: No, it's streaky.
Moi: How can you tell?
DLW: I JUST KNOW!
|Not the look we are aiming for.|
Conversation continues in this vein until the process is completed. I awaken the next morning to find the sheets have changed colour and I have a brown stain on my right hand, which normally fades after about a week. It seems I have negotiated the pre-amble to another major outing.
More soon Dear Reader