So, the week began with a visit from my friend who is from Iran and studying over here for a few years. We took her to an Indian restaurant. The waiter asked if she was Indian. I am guessing, from her reaction, that for an Iranian that is not a compliment.
The boys then thought it something of a challenge to encourage her to drink shots with them. Hmm, can always rely on them to not let me down when I’m trying to make a good impression.
We also had a “men’s social/bloke’s night” at our house. I do think to be male and attend church you need to be man enough to cope with some pretty naff names. They had a croquet tournament. For the uninitiated, this might seem like a nice polite game. It is not. I promised myself I would never have to play it again when I was dating my husband and we played with his family, who all thought it hilarious to send my ball spinning off into a garden several houses away while they all had a nice social time and finished together. It is a nasty, competitive mean game. My family are all very good at it. Enough said.
The winner of this particular event, which we host every year, gets a trophy to sit on their mantelpiece for the year. You might think this would be a small cup or a replica of croquet mallets, but no. It is a very large and ugly china hand which was originally used as a mould for rubber gloves. Husband found it in a junk shop when in New York. I am not sure if the men actually try to win it or not. I suspect that they cannot help being competitive. You will be surprised at how often the wife of the winner sidles up to me afterwards in church and confesses that they really do not have room for it in their house, would I mind looking after it for the rest of the year.
My husband then hides it. Otherwise a nasty accident might befall it when I am dusting. (Actually, I rarely dust, but I might make an exception in this case.)
I bought a hat for nephew’s wedding. I know you will be pleased, knowing just how much I hate shopping. Fifteen minutes, half price, John Lewis. AND it came with a box. A triumph. It is slightly big. If it slips down I will have to peer at bride and groom from under the rim. But was too good a bargain to miss.
Then shopped for boy clothes with boys. This was painful. I suggested to boy with large toe protruding from canvas shoe that perhaps shoes would be a good item for list.
We went to the same shop he went to last time and tried on exactly the same pair of shoes in exactly the same size. He informed me they were fine, just a little tight over one toe, but as they were the same shoe/size as last time, this was not a problem. I was almost fooled.
Then I realised that the toe it was ‘a bit tight over’ was the same toe that protruded from the old shoes.
Suggested a bigger size might be a good idea. Was told this would not work as other foot was a lot smaller.
I felt wearing one new shoe (in bigger size) and one old shoe (on small foot) was ideal solution. Son told me I was “hilarious” (in the kind of voice that told me I was far from funny in a good way.)
We bought the bigger shoes. (I was paying.)
Journey home uneventful. Boys sat in back and debated intensely all the way home. Sentences such as, “what if a man kills a dog and then just keeps killing dogs for fun” and, “well no, I think all animals are equal so perhaps murder is not so wrong. I could probably eat a human,” floated to the front. I was going to ask what they wanted for dinner. Decided not to.
PS, We collected son’s duvet from Morrison’s washing service (the one with a hole in, remember?) All was good – we were not charged for any breakage due to feathers and he can still use the duvet. As a pillow perhaps.
‘Boys’ and ‘shopping’ in the same sentence just has to make for an interesting letter……..!