Ironing

The thing about being a haus frau is that you can sometimes be free to, for example, have extraordinary encounters. However, if you do, nobody will cover for you. If you do not work 14 hours a day 7 days a week you will soon accumulate an insurmountable backlog. We women know this. I am still trying to catch up on the backlog caused by the birth of our first child in 1997. Last week I would have described my ironing backlog as ‘Mount Vesuvius', and this week, it is an entire Himalayan mountain range.

My husband J-C has learned not to say anything about this, as he does not want his ears buffeted by a storm of verbal abuse. He has other methods. This morning he asked me to help him affix the cufflinks of his dress shirt.

‘Special occasion sir?’ I murmured, slipping into role as his personal manservant.

‘No no, nothing special, this is the only shirt left in the wardrobe…’

‘Oh dear. But I did replenish your buckwheat’.

For the past ten years my husband has eaten raw buckwheat for breakfast, part of an ancient Tibetan recipe for health and longevity. He’s amazing.