On a slippery slope in fantasy mansion

IN a New Year where I resolved to make no resolutions, my husband asked that I make just one – to try not to kill him this year.

Apparently (and I admit to nothing) after my morning ablutions in the shower I do not screw the top on the shampoo tightly enough so that when himself enters same location for his own ablutions, my alleged remiss has the impact of transforming the shower floor into an ice-rink. He goes further. He tells me that every morning sees him very alert to me and my ways. I actually took that as a compliment; how nice after all these years. My delight must have translated to my face because he said I was obviously missing the point. Then he got all scientific and explanatory yet still succeeded to tie it all up in a dramatic corollary: his life was in danger when it came to the shower. Imagine that. Of course the obvious response would have been to be contrite, to assure him that I was completely unaware of my actions and that I was sorry for all the grief I had caused him. Important too I guess would have been to reassure him with words, kindness and action that I was in no way trying to hurt, maim or kill him; that I was actually very fond of him and, sure, where would I be without him?

Instead, I saw the episode as an opportunity to open up one of my ‘fantasy’ conversations; another one of my ‘ways’ as he himself might put it. A fantasy conversation is much more conventional than it sounds; it generally encompasses realities that are never going to happen. For example I can talk forever about the pros of ski-diving or I can wax lyrical about winning the lotto. It’ll never come to pass but that doesn’t mean I can’t talk about it. So in this instance I turned the focus of the conversation to the grand notion of us having our own bathrooms – a ‘ his’ and ‘ hers’ and a ‘moi-et-toi’ scenario. You see already the juices were flowing.

So I go on with my soliloquy on the merits of separate bathrooms. I talk about the inevitable mystery it would induce (after all these years). It would be a refuge and a sanctuary and, in concession to his primary concern, I referenced his health and safety issues and the guarantee of same.

And he let me ramble. For someone in fear of his life, he gave me free reign. At no stage did he interrupt me to highlight the difference between the mansion of my dreams and the house of my reality. I was actually beginning to think he was on-board; another fantasy.

He waited until I was done and that’s when he said it – “if you had your own bathroom then I would only worry about you killing yourself!” I do so love a man with a dramatic corollary.

Re the shampoo? It’s my New Year resolution.