Back in the doghouse - Kevin Page

Each week I sit down at my computer and bash out a few hundred words on what has been happening in my world over the previous seven days. Most of you will know I don’t do politics or anything serious. It is very much a snapshot of my life and, by default, the lives of family and friends.

Obviously, because she’s the one I spend most time with, Mrs P features prominently.

Now, to make sure she doesn’t come across as anything less than the kind, warm-hearted beauty of a woman she is – and always has been – I have put in place some safeguards to make sure the cumulative effect of the weekly column is not painting My Beloved as some sort of psycho dragonwoman.

To that end, I run the finished piece by the family to make sure nobody is offended or upset.

Occasionally I have to change the odd line but, in the main, the system has worked well.

Until last week, that is. That’s when the failsafe system, well, er, failed.

The normal thumbs-up messages were not received back before I had to send my golden prose so it went out as is.

Now don’t get me wrong here. I didn’t write anything terrible or unkind but the cumulative effect of a couple of weeks in a row of me poking a bit of fun at Mrs P has resulted in a peeved daughter getting on the blower.

You may have heard the blast I got from where you are.

Apparently I had made the Chief Lioness sound like the aforementioned dragon and I needed to do something about it to make amends.

Legal action wasn’t threatened but was certainly implied – as was the suggestion Santa may not find his way down the home chimney of Yours Truly this December if something wasn’t done. Promptly.

A quick aside here. I had a mate years ago whose then wife used that exact threat against him.

I’d gone round to see him for some reason or another and I walked in on them having a good old ding-dong row.

As is common, money was at the centre of the dispute and I opened the door just in time to hear her say, “Well, you bought those golf clubs”.

I was somewhat surprised as we were both immersed heavily in the game at the time and quizzed him on the purchase, brand and all that.

He was equally confused.

It turned out he’d bought the clubs in question 10 years earlier and had already served his own sentence in the doghouse. Or so he thought.

That’s when she followed up with the Santa threat.

It seems there is no statute of limitations when it comes to some offences.

I digress. So here we are. And I need to do something to make amends.

Now, as you know, I am struggling a bit health-wise at present so taking Mrs P out for a meal or to a show – that sort of thing – is not really a goer.

All I’m really able to do is write a few words about My Beloved.

To be honest, that’s not too hard.

She made me smile the first time I met her. That hasn’t changed even after all these years.

We still find heaps to laugh about together, even now in the middle of what is probably the toughest year of our lives.

When she’s not with me, I wonder if she’s okay. I like curling up on the couch watching telly together, even if my dodgy hip and her dodgy back make it hard for us to stay there long.

And, seeing as I’ve gone this far and hopefully you’re not gagging over your cornflakes, I count my lucky stars and wonder how on earth I ended up with this amazing person sitting opposite me, who incidentally has no idea what I’m writing.

I know that somewhere down the track the Boomerang Child will suggest to Mrs P I should take her to some op shops to complete my penance. I wouldn’t be surprised if that tour coincided with a visit from said daughter.

Obviously I will sit dutifully in the car outside awaiting their return and hoping I’ve done enough to finally get out of the doghouse.

In the meantime, I’m sure one or the other of them will keep the door unlocked just in case.