The Reluctant Housewife or Dorothy Parker Ate My Puppy

"When I got married, I said to my therapist, 'I want to do something creative.' He said, 'Why don't you have a baby?' I hope he's dead now." Joy Behar

Sunday, July 31, 2005

The Reluctant Eurofrau

Eurofrau is a Eurofraud. My German is excreable, unless I've been drinking. Then, of course, I'm fluent. At least I have some German though.

I worry how my friends Henry & Annabel are going to cope when they visit us at h'bands mother's house on the Belgian border next weekend.

Henry is an unreconstructed Sloane of the 'Shout louder and they'll Understand' school of language. He has blonde hair, Gucci loafers and a signet ring digging into the flesh of his left hand. He spends all his money restoring an old Triumph Convertible. He's a sixty year old trapped in the body of a twenty six year old.

Annabel is small, blonde and delights in tormenting Henry by telling everyone about his sexual shortcomings, personal hygiene issues and inability to spell. She wears too much white eyeshadow and has no chest to speak of.

I like them both very, very much.

Henry has a morbid fear of card games and Scrabble. I haven't the heart to tell him that there is nothing else to do in the evenings in rural Germany. We could throw our car keys into a pot and swap spouses but, from what Annabel says, that would only occupy ten minutes of my at most.

My other worry is how they will interact with the mother-in-law. Vivacious, no-nonsense and wise, she is doing a phd on Kurt Schwitters. Henry & Annabel are NOT no-nonsense or wise. I hope Henry doesn't make bottom jokes at the dinner table.

Am glad to be going to Germany, getting away from the hovel. Mother-in-law's house is gargantuan by London standards. It sits on the top of a hill overlooking a valley. At night, the only sounds are the wind and owls in the distance. It's a comfort to escape the daily routine of almost-nothingness.