A bad day ...

There are some days that one just shouldn't get out of bed.

Yesterday was one of those for my Betrothed who managed to blunder his way through a series of ... erm ... incidents that must have made him wish that he'd just skipped the day altogether.

Actually, it started the evening before when we dropped into a friend's birthday party. He had specifically asked if my Betrothed could do a bit of an act so, not wanting to offend, the fire clubs were loaded up and the birthday boy invited to participate in a small routine. This is a fairly passive exercise for the victim ... erm, sorry ... participant as all that is required is to lie on the ground and let fire be juggled over your head. I know. I've been there - and very spectacular it is too.

Just a shame on this occasion that the lighting was poor, the ground uneven and the dog barking. A combination of factors which caused my Betrothed to do what he never does and drop the fire clubs on the Birthday Boy's head. Whoops. No permanent damage done ... we hope.

So it was, perhaps, not surprising that he should want a little lie in the following day. We had the parental body coming over for lunch to catch up with an old friend we haven't seen in ages. He's one of the principal characters in 'Phantom of the Opera' so we had to have an early lunch to allow him to get back to the theatre in time for his matinee.

Anyway, I had been up and about for some time when the hour had progressed sufficiently to rouse my Betrothed so he could get ready for the day. However, he refused to be roused on the slim pretext of being on strike.

The strike was called in protest over my not looking sufficiently girlie. Now it is no secret that my Betrothed is fond of 'la difference' and would prefer that I not wear jeans and RM's all the time. As I do, actually, get away with this outfit often, I thought it was not unreasonable to comply and go put on a skirt. And anyway, a little more shut-eye wouldn't hurt him ...

Meanwhile the phone rang, the luncheon needed stirring etc. etc. so we were running a little behind by the time I had donned skirt and heels and was back out to the studio to try the rousing routine a second time.

While the strike was abandoned, my Betrothed was still being a little difficult and it was only my statement that the parental body would be here any minute that got him moving, striding across the short stretch of garden between studio and house on his way to the shower. Naked. And in full view of the parental body who had just that instant driven into the carport.

So my poor Betrothed was caught like a rabbit in the headlights, stark naked in front of his prospective in-laws, before gathering his wits (and who knows what else) and streaking into the laundry calling hysterically for a towel.

I don't think my Ma and Pa have laughed so much for ages - as my Betrothed, with the sounds of mirth following him, ran into what became an inordinately long shower. The parental body were, of course, very good sports about the whole thing and promised not to tell anyone. Well, almost anyone. Well, not everyone. Oh dear.

Recovering with aplomb from this most embarrassing incident, we all settled in to have a nice lunch. My friend, The Star, was in fine form and a good time was being had by all. My Betrothed enquired, as you do, about how The Star and I had become friends and I informed him that he had been long time partner to The Banker, the two of them breaking up some years ago.

This connection established, my Betrothed started his next sentence with "So, Banker, how are you enjoying Adelaide?" Whoops.

However, it didn't end there. The Star enquired, on recalling that my birthday was fast approaching, how old I would be this year. 29 and some months? I responded that I would, sadly, be turning 48.

My Betrothed (for the third time that day) turned slightly pale. "48?" he asked. "Well, yes" I responded. "You did know that I was slightly older than yourself."

The paleness continued, and I had a horrid moment thinking that he had, in fact, thought I was only 29 and some months when the truth came out.

"I thought you were turning 50" he whispered. "I think I'd better make some calls."

Now I don't know exactly what he had planned, but suspect that some lovely confection with 'Happy 50th Birthday' may have featured. And may not have been appreciated to quite the extent that such thoughtfulness would otherwise have warranted.

All in all, it was a good thing when our visitors left and we were able to return to our normal state of domestic bliss. And giggling. Well, I was anyway. I'm sure he'll see the funny side eventually ...