Taking a morning shower is always a good time to reflect and ponder the day ahead. It pays to give the warm water a bit of time to heat the supply source before jumping under the tap. There is nothing worse than jumping in, put the tap on prematurely and freeze to death.
Lately I wonder if I am on my ‘last’ of things. I bought a pair of RMW boots some seventeen years ago. I still polish them and use an old woollen sock to buff them up. There is nothing like the smell of boot polish on old shoes and the satisfaction of having bought a pair of boots that one still wears. They have had soles and heels put on, but the body of the boots is still intact, all strongly stitched together. Nothing like those plastic moulded shoes where they just imprint the stitching, fooling the customer in thinking they buy solid shoes. I had such a pair of cheap shoes and one of them broke in half. I used to wear those plastic shoes in combination with shiny polyester trousers.
I love buffing up my body with the same enthusiasm as old boots but sadly can’t reach some of my back parts anymore. I suggested H to give a helping hand but she said ,”fuck off, do it yourself.” ” Now, now; it doesn’t behove an upright grandma to speak like that”. What will the neighbours think? I did give her the old seductive look. She just took it as lecherous, and that did not help at all. “When is the last time you bought me flowers,” she said. “I buy flowers every week,” I replied in a firm and admonishing tone. “The Alstremerias in the vase are proof,” I added while washing myself vigorously. “Yes, but not specially for me,” she answered. “Well, it is a bit difficult to buy them just for you and not me. If you like I won’t look at them.”
This is the stage in any conversations that a wise man knows how to withdraw from. There is nothing now one can throw at the conversation that will give it a bit of balance or justice, let alone logic. I just kept on soaping with my back towards her making sure she noticed my struggle to reach my back. “Why don’t you buy a back-scrubbing-brush”? “One with a long wooden handle,” she said. “It’s just not the same as your soft hand”, I answered gently.
“Oh, its Ok, I said a bit miffed, I’ll leave my back unwashed, it’s not important, I’ll get some nice croissants from the French bakery and make a nice coffee for you after my shower, darling. A pity that I am getting beyond being able to reach my back now, but that’s life.” “I’ll get a back scrubbing brush from Aldi’s on the way home with the croissants and some flowers”, I added.
Ah well OK, I’ll do it then.”. Turn your back to me, but don’t splash” and no funny moves. I was ready for the next move. It was risky! “Why don’t you hop in and I’ll wash your back at the same time”, I offered? Two for the price of one! “No, you are a pervert, why should I?”
That last question of ‘why should I’ is usually a precursor for giving in. We know each other well. Indeed, without a further word H got undressed and hopped in. I pretended not to look and averted my eyes. It pays to just stay quiet, no more words or lecher moves now. “Alright, no funny business and no kneeling on the floor like you did last time, she said.” No, I won’t, “I just want to wash every inch of you, no good going at half mast,” I reiterated calmly.
“Just get on with it. Where is your difficult back?” “Here on the other side of my front.” “A difficult back, H? Do the front then if it is too difficult”! “You pervert”!
The croissants are almost here, dear.