Robinson

I am currently lobbying the International Olympic Committee (IOC) to make 'Annoying The Wife' an Olympic event.

It's easier and more entertaining than, say, rowing, shooting or archery. And the best thing about it is that the hook need not be properly baited, they bite regardless.

For example, Act 1 Scene 1: Sitting bolt upright on her side of the marital bed is the Old Ball and Chain, glasses firmly poised on the end of her nose, simultaneously struggling to balance her chequebook, write variegated banking instructions, sort envelopes for delivery on my behalf to all parts and catch a glimpse of The View with her peripheral vision. Women I trust tell me this is called 'multi-tasking' - obviously some modern techno-geekish activity requiring a master's in computer science.

Whatever. Just don't ask me, I've never tried it.

Dressed to impress

In waddles Your Humble Scribe having spent the last 30 minutes in the little boys room losing weight the easy way while reading today's Gleaner. Still dressed to impress in yesterday's ragged T-shirt featuring an advert for last week's curry, I slow down when passing the TV (pre-game warm-ups - guaranteed to draw an anxious "You're blocking the TV!"); expertly skip around last night's clothes still on the floor beside the bed (the perfect example of forward planning as they are easily available in case of emergency); plop down on my side of the bed and grab the remote.

"What are you doing?" this from a frustrated-looking Old BC.

"But, honey, " I protest, "I haven't done anything yet."

"Firstly, if I've told you once, I've told you 1,000 times, don't call me Honey. I have a name. It's a plot to avoid calling out your Young Girl's name by mistake." Please note that one's imaginary concubine is 'Young Girl' not 'Mature-Woman-Who-Never-Nags-But-Attends-to-all-your-Needs'. No sirreee Bob, it's ALWAYS 'Young Girl (Whose-Only-Interest-Is-Your-Wallet)'.

"What Young Girl?" I ask, sounding vaguely affronted while using the diversion to smoothly switch the TV to European Golf.

"What's that? Don't you know I HATE GOLF!!"

"You? Hate golf?" I retort confidently, "You're always watching Tiger Woods."

"I don't like Golf. I love Tiger!" she recovers triumphantly.

"OK," I surrender, the golf firmly entrenched and the remote hidden away on my side of the bedroom, "Please can you get me a glass of water and ice?" At this point, Paul Keanes-Douglas might interject, "Who tell he say so?" Old BC now launches a lecture on numeracy. "Can you count? Do you see how many things I'm doing here?? All YOUR BUSINESS. You want all these things done but you will NOT get off your fat you-know-what and do them yourself. Why don't YOU get your own water and ice????"

At which point, having accomplished the real objective (golf) by the sort of misdirection of which David Copperfield (no, not the Dickensian version) would be proud, one happily permits Old BC the last word and settles down to doze in front of the golf. Old BC, fully wound up, keeps muttering, "God knows why I put up with this nonsense. You need to get a job. Coming in here … interrupting my work … " and so on and on until she runs out of invective and returns to multi-tasking.

Lessons to be learnt

Two political lessons can be learnt from this. Firstly, ladies, please stop taking life (and yourselves) so seriously. Really, it's not that important - whatever you think is. You are creating easy pickings for your lazy, immature, conniving husbands. Lighten up! Trust me, husbands are not as dumb as they look. They have a plan.Secondly, the equally complex and sensitive relationship between a minister of finance and his Cabinet colleagues should now be understood by all. Only educated (well, at least, literate) persons are usually found in a Cabinet. Yet only the minister of finance consistently shows the ability to count. Cabinet ministers constantly want more money. There's always some urgent need which encourages ministers to ignore the budget. And every MOF responds similarly to each request. "No problem," he says, at the latest 'emergency' Cabinet meeting, "I see Brother DeeBright needs more money for emergency repair to police stations! Let's give him!"

"Yes", is the chorus while each member secretly works on his own request for 'more'. "So, now," continues the MOF, "Which one of you will volunteer to have your budgetary allocation cut so that DeeBright can have his increased?" Suddenly, a pall of silence descends upon the room. No volunteers appear.

As I say, literate, all of them, just sometimes not very numerate.

Peace and love.

Gordon Robinson is an attorney-at-law. Feedback may be sent to columns@gleanerjm.com.