CORINNA’S DIARY: Sunday, 7th March.Yesterday we went to visit two lovely people: Richie’s brother Doug and his wife Ronnie. Jon picked up a guitar and joined Naomi, Richie, Doug and Ronnie in an impromptu jam while I sat and sipped some delicious green tea and spent a happy hour or so cuddling on a sofa with a new friend.
Before you throw your hands in the air and exclaim “How could you do that to your poor husband - and in front of him too?” perhaps I should go into a bit more detail. “No,” I hear you cry “We don’t want to hear about the sordid details… you are in Kempner, Texas, not Reno, Nevada, you know.”
OK, so if I went on to explain that this new friend is not some tall, tanned Texan hunk with a lilt in his talk and a Levi-clad swagger in his walk; but is in fact a small, four-legged, waggy-tailed dachshund called Sophie, will that get me back into your good books? She is absolutely adorable, and after meeting her and Salem here at Richie and Naomi’s I reckon it won’t be too long before Biggles gets a sister in the so-called shape of a sausage!
Not that I am saying that the discovery of one of the afore-mentioned hunks would not be welcome also you understand – I could do with a personal assistant. Excuse me while I experience a quick flashback to the infamous 1985 laundrette-situated Levi advert – who said a gal can’t dream? So there you have it: my first sexist remark of the trip. Now the wait for the obligatory "touché" retort from Jon.
After trying to smuggle Sophie into my capacious bag with no success, we left Doug and Ronnie’s and went off to have something to eat at a Japanese/Korean restaurant where Jon and Naomi each feasted on a platter of sushi. Now I am not a fan of fish in the first place, but if I am to eat it I much prefer it to be battered or coated in golden breadcrumbs rather than sitting there staring at me in the raw, so to speak. I stuck to a dish of fried rice instead, the little grains of which went from dish to fork to mouth with no problems at all, unlike those wrapped around one of Jon’s delicacies, which lodged itself within the bushiness of his beard and clung on with glutinous tenacity until eventually removed by me in a state of frustration, much like a mother tends her offspring after he/she has just eaten an ice-cream.
And so it begins - two firsts in one blog; sexism and lampooning my husband. Does life get any better?
Ahh, the wonder of beards. No man with a proper beard, such as Jon and I own, ever gets peckish when far from a food source. One just liberates the remains of ones last meal that were carefully stored in the beard for such an eventuality.
ReplyDeleteBe careful with the dachshunds, mini smooth dachshunds have Napoleon complexes.
ReplyDeleteMy grandmother had one that bit everyone, including me. In fact, I have some fear of miniature smooth dachshunds even today.
I am not in the least afraid of big dogs.
But those little dogs have to be socialized and trained just as any big dog is.
And a dachshund, even a small one, is a working breed. The smallest dachshunds were used to bolt rabbits from their warrens. The German term for them is Kanichenteckel. Kanichen means rabbit, and teckels are Dachshunds. (The term Dachshund means badger dog, but that's a generic term for any dog that hunts badgers.)