Sluts Together

I was talking to a friend the other day about compatibility and how she has nothing in common with her partner at all, though she loves him dearly. That got me thinking. “Come to think of it,” I said, “I have nothing in common with Himself either.
He likes jazz – I don't much. He loves boating – I don't. I love being outside and walking – he will take the car whenever possible, and is quite happy poodling around indoors (unless on a boat). I am quite sociable whereas he'd sooner be by himself – or with me. I love going to the pictures, out with friends – he'd rather watch a DVD at home.”

I stopped – because the list could go on ad infinitum, and wondered what exactly we DID have in common. Then I got it. “A sense of humour!”

This was illustrated yesterday prior to the arrival of my mother which necessitates a big spring clean (well, tidy and hoover) which is a most rare occurrence in the Flowerpot household.

“We must have a big tidy up,” said Himself, sitting down with the paper.

“No, no,” I said, not looking up from my book. “I dusted last week so it can't be bad.”

Silence. We looked at each other and laughed and laughed until Himself was crying and I had stomach ache.

So that's something else we have in common. We're both sluts.

Compatibility

This weather is getting to me. I’m normally volatile, but this rain is dragging me down into its liquid muddy depths. I don’t mind getting wet, but yesterday I was SOAKED three times. Twice walking Mollie and once in town. This ensured Very Bad Mood and when Himself got back from work, I wasn’t speaking to him either. (He’s lucky in this aspect – he would only have got an earful.)

After a glass of wine I was slightly more affable and anyway, Himself was busy boring over a flying magazine that had been sent to him featuring an incident that occurred when he was 16 (more later). So he’s nearly famous as well and that cheered him no end.

When I think of how different Himself and I are, it’s amazing that we actually speak to each other, let alone get on. For instance:-

I am quite a sociable creature; he is not.
My idea of a good evening out is with friends, going to the cinema or theatre, having a drink or two. He’d rather stay at home with a bottle of wine. Unless there’s any jazz on, in which case he’d rather go and see jazz, which is a type of music I’m not very keen on.
I eat very little meat; he likes meat and two veg every day.
I’m not very interested in food, whereas he will spend hours poring over recipe books, before cooking a meal.
I love long walks with a friend and Mollie.
He doesn’t like walking at all, but comes on the short morning one under duress.
I love singing; he doesn’t.
I love ballet and most forms of dance; he doesn’t, though he has been known to lurch round at a pub disco when sufficiently inebriated.
I am mostly hyperactive, whereas he has a slow metabolism.
I sleep naked, as I’m always boiling hot, while he sleeps in a sweatshirt.

Our differences serve to provide lively debate (for which read, heated arguments, imminent divorce, wine glass thrown across room, depending on the state of my hormones). Topics to avoid are Children (see earlier blog). Abortions (light touch paper and stand back). Politics. Iraq. My family. His family – or an appendage to his family (a Long Story).

So what do we talk about? Er – I’ll just see if I can remember…

So far we’ve managed eleven years together. I wonder how much longer we can survive under one roof without killing each other?