Saintly Sinner

When my husband finally makes it past St Peter and on through the golden gates in to heaven and follows to long queue of people waiting to have their virtues weighed against their sins, he will still not be that concerned, since he is of the opinion that he is already some sort of saint. 

Don’t get me wrong by thinking that I am putting him down unduly because I am the first one to praise his good points. He has put up with me for nigh on 40 years and that alone is amazing, because I am not the easiest person in the world to be stuck with day in and day out. I admit that I am not without faults either. We both have pretty definite ideas that now and again do clash. We do talk things through calmly rather than lose it completely and scream and shout at each other. In fairness I am not even sure if Steve has a temper to lose. 

The things he does that I am happy with (that he prefers to do because he enjoys those jobs) are: He loves to cook and that also means that he likes to control the food we eat. He also wants to do the food shopping; this he does daily so that we only have very fresh food. We have a small food cupboard fridge and a small freezer in the kitchen, then, in the garage we have a big fridge freezer. None of these fridges are EVER full. Neither are the kitchen cupboards. He insists that shopping is done daily. We keep very little food. I say we, but actually that is HIM. We do not keep a stock of: snacks, no crisps, sweets, biscuits. 

Yes, Steve is a bit of a control freak. He takes complete command of the business and is a master planner. I do all the computer work, mainly at home; emails, inventories, invoices etc. I am also head gardener…. He does not like that job. 

I do have my own set of rules, that he very often takes no notice of what so ever. A moment ago, I asked him if he was aware of any of the things that I don’t like him doing and frequently ask him not to do. He responded immediately with. “Take my shoes, boots, trainers off before I come into the house, Don’t bash the spoiler on the car when I park outside the coffee shop, Don’t put the rubbish out before we go swimming on Wednesday, And I’m not allowed to go to the tip”. 

That is the full list of my important rules. However, last Thursday whilst my friend Helen from over the road who does my hair was here, He came in the back door, walked through into the lounge and sat down with his work boots still on. Last Wednesday he put the rubbish out at 6.10 am. He is not allowed to go to the tip because he thinks that none of the careful sorting rules apply to him. He has been barred. The guys at the tip therefore, feel sorry for me and fall over themselves to be helpful when I go on my own. I smile sweetly and thank them. 

This morning when we drove to Arundel to meet a friend at Swanbourne Lake Lodge, he parked in exactly the same wrong place and ripped the spoiler right off at one end.  I reasonably calmly, asked him why he did that, when I had told him so many times not to. Then I told him that he was never ever, for the rest of his life, to park there again and added, “Have you got that Stephen”?

“Yes”, he said, but he was smiling!