Well, the rain has arrived. Of course I knew it was on the way by the way the shoulders and back were playing up. Hubs always said I’m a walking barometer and he’s right. Don’t ever let anyone tell you it’s all an old wives tale ... I can forecast rain days in advance. Mind you, it’s been nice having so much good weather and no aches and pains so I mustn’t complain. And we do need rain, or rather the gardens do, and the farmers, and industry in general. It’s a shame that tennis tournaments always suffer though. Rain stopped play at Queens in London, the final had to be postponed. And Wimbledon is almost upon us ... I’ll scream if I miss that!
During the morning Hubs lost a button from his trousers. Not a vital one, just a back pocket. He’d put on a pair of oldies for when he went out in the rain. So he says to me, where’s the button box? I showed him. He was astonished by the amount of odd buttons all neatly packed in appropriate size and colour range, along with little plastic bags and tiny envelopes containing replacement buttons for outfits old and new. Just to be awkward he needed a grey button, which I didn’t have. Of all the colours under the sun he had to lose one from grey trousers. In the end he made do with a bit of black thread.
So then he asked if I’d sew on the button. Sorry, I say, my fingers are not up to it. Okay, he says, I’ll do it, and proceeds to drop his trousers. Where’s the needle and thread, then? Honestly, you’d think he lived up the road instead of in the same house. He knows nothing about what’s kept where. I reckon he goes around with his eyes shut.
So I opened the drawer where repair materials are kept, pulled out a reel of cotton and a pincushion full of needles. He selects one, and drops it, so we had to hunt around to find it. The needle had actually rolled along the work counter. Here’s where it gets funny.
I tried to pick it up … but the fingers suddenly can’t do it. Or is it the brain that’s the problem? I messed around for ages trying to get to grips with an exceptionally thin needle. And couldn’t. I tried licking the end of my finger and dabbing at it, hoping moisture would lift the damn thing from the counter. It wouldn’t. So hubs had a go. Would you believe, even he couldn’t pick it up. Even a few swear words didn’t help.
He tried all ways, even stooped so he could get an eye to eye view (pun intended). From where I stood the view was ….. but perhaps I’d better keep that to myself. Safe to say I laughed even more.
Rocking with laughter always gives me a pain in the gut. And you’re four years younger than me, I says, between mopping tears from the eyes and holding my aching tum. I haven’t had such a good giggle for ages. Isn’t amazing what a good downpour can do? Never again will I grumble about rain.