Second Helpings

If Music Be the Food of Love...

I’m in the process of transferring all my music to my iPod for the big trip in May, so thought I’d continue with that task this morning as it will be a lengthy process. I’m working my way through my collection alphabetically and have only got as far as C up to yet. Hopefully I’ll have enough music for five weeks and be able to turn up the volume at the first sign of any hubby grumps.

I cannot live without music and play it constantly when hubby is out. As he’d disappeared to the golf course early, I picked out the next of my C.D’s to be transferred, which just happened to be one of my favourite artists, Eric Clapton. I had a dental appointment to attend later, so it seemed an opportune time to make a healthy soup for dinner. I set about chopping vegetables while I swooned over Clapton. I enjoy cooking too when I have the kitchen to myself and no intrusions.

As my favourite track coincided with chopping onions, I shed a few tears and fantasised about being a twenty-something free spirit, engaged in a smoochy dance with some tall, handsome young hunk. It may have been my young South African dentist, who had fallen in love with the beautiful, even, sparkling white teeth I’d inherited from my father, instead of the troublesome, unsteady bunch my mother insisted on passing on to both her daughters. Is nothing in life fair?

Anyway, whoever was playing the starring role in my imagination was just about to croon ‘And I say yes, you look wonderful tonight,’ in my willing ear, when in came hubby. He stomped across the kitchen, grabbed a stick of celery from the chopping board and went off crunching to the nearby computer, not even in time to the music may I add.

In between crunches he attempted to whistle along with the beautiful song, but only succeeded in shattering my fantasy and irritating my last nerve. I concentrated on chopping the vegetables as if I’d not resisted, I may have turned and ensured he neither looked nor felt wonderful tonight.

The C.D. finished, I put the soup on to cook and filled the sink to wash the pots. I returned Clapton to his rightful place in the collection and took out the next C.D. The first track from the Best of the Corrs started up and hubby decided to sing along in dulcet tones. ‘Go on, go on, leave me breathless…’ I gazed down at the chopping knife I was washing and contemplated granting his request, but sadly crimes of passion are no longer considered a reason for lenient sentences.

As the hysterical sound of sport on television drowned out my music and erased the last flicker of my fantasy, I had to content myself with going upstairs and punching the lights out of his little Mii I designed on Wii Boxing. Oh well, if it’s not as cold as forecast tomorrow, he may stay longer at golf, allowing me to move onto the D’s in my collection and erotic daydream number five, in which I’m a sophisticated business woman in my thirties and the opposite starring role is played by…

But you don’t wish to know that do you?