Character traits I would aim for in my next husband (mythical)

Not that I am considering disposing of the one I have, but would I pick a similar husb. a second time?

For the purpose of this analysis, please assume away the children.

I think I would first have to consider whether I would bother a second time.  I mean, the husb. is very nice and all that, but the thought of having my life back to myself but for the patter of little paws with as much reading and bike riding time as can be imagined - well, that would be a tricky one.  I will be buggered for a blog if I continue down this path so assume I will dip my toes into the marital swamp again.  (I am getting to be a natty assumer.)

While in the neighbourhood I will also assume (in my simple and unaffected manner) that I can attract any type of chappie I fancy.  It is OK, George.  You are safe.  I must be the only straight woman over 40 who doesn't have you on her "exception to general policy of faithfulness" short list.

So, what sort of character traits does the extant husb. have and would I go for something similar?

Let us start with geekiness.  I speak fluent geek.

When I was younger my brother (a geek king) would throw big parties.  There would always be a clutch of sad lads too socially inept to speak to anyone.  My brother would drag me over and introduce me to one, whereupon I asked them several questions til I discovered a topic they were competent to converse upon (encryption algorithms, online gaming, collecting interesting mathematical t-shirts), chat to them for a bit then dodge out and hide somewhere.  Then my brother would find me and drag me off to some other malnourished brainy dude with stunted social skills.

Don't even think the brother was doing it on my behalf.  No, no.  He just knew his friends would feel they had some degree of success if they spoke to someone at the party.  I did not mind too much because it is nice to make a stranger a little happier, in smallish doses.  If I kept clear of my brother for a while I could meet more interesting people, like a couple who told me in graphic detail what happens if you attempt to use your penis as a vase for a solitary rose.  (To summarise, it doesn't end well.  The folks in casualty laugh and the medical students take photos and spread them around the uni.)

Anyway, back to the topic at hand.  The current husb. comes fairly high on the geeky scale.  Not as high as my brother and his troop of deeply involved coders, mathematicians and engineers.  High enough that before meeting me he would have no idea what you were talking about if you mentioned Austen, Machiavelli, or Stalin but he would recognise Maxwell, Pascal and Watt.

You know, it would be tempting to go for someone who would be happy to converse on the religious aspects of the 30 year war, or at least have some chance of knowing when you are making a reference to something, say, cultural in general conversation.  But on the other hand, such bounty may bring terrible sacrifices.  If the new husb. was ignorant of Mr Georg Ohn and his work, you may end up having to pay an electrician for minor electrical work.

Go Georg, you sexy thing.

Mind you, if I were to assume the next husb. was considerably weathier, we could get his assistant to supervise general repairs and tradespeople while we were holidaying for several weeks each year somewhere of historical, culinary and cultural interest.

To postulate further, such a refined type is unlikely to have any curiosity about storm water drains, or what would happen if you tried to electroplate an annoying shop assistant (without actually killing them, of course).

Hmm, I can see this is going to be tricky. I cannot really expect any type of genuine hybrid,so in balance, I think I am happy to go for a reasonable amount of geekiness next time as well.

Jeez Louise.  It is past bedtime and all I have considered re husb. #2 is optimal degree of geekiness (43 - 68% with 5% error).  I will have to continue this bit of fluff another day.

Embarrassment cleaning

Hem.  Well, I was so embarrassed to reread my blog I decided to tackle the laundry floor.

This involved removing:

• mud from the last rain - a while ago now - further hemming in embarrassment

• mulberry stains from the feet of girls and cat - at least the girls wash theirs in the laundry

• scunge that appears from under the washing machine - I hope this doesn't mean it has started spraying oil - surely it is too young for that sign of decepitude

• dust devils that roll about between the sink and wall and behind the door, evolving into higher lifeforms and planning a takeover of the house

• zero - zip - nuthin' in the way of overflows from the litter tray.  The usual litter was unavailable several weeks ago and she hates the replacement.  Now she just crosses her furry legs and waits for the back door to open so she can dig up the seedlings.  The litter is for emergency use only.  Great result.

It's probably not hygenic but ...

... I spend quite a lot of time on the toilet pulling burs out of the cat's tail.


... on an average day, exploration of the girl's hair would yield several globs of jam and 1/2 cup of sand glued in with sunburn cream.


... my darling husband once let our crawling baby eat duck shit.  When questioned about the wisdom of the practice, he said "she only ate one bit."

A wood duck.  Not so tasty poo, apparently.

 
... I haven't cleaned the laundry floor in so long it seems too dirty to attempt.


... in the time of my previous cat, a close examination of the area around the back door would reveal several dessicated mouse noses, because apparently they weren't that tasty.

5 things I don't want for Christmas

I incline to the Tim Minchin view of Christmas gifts (the socks, jocks and chocs approach).  I also rather fancy the idea I don't need any more stuff so nothing is fine.  Failing that, if it isn't covering in chocolate or enables me to purchase a book of my own selection, please don't.  Or you could buy someone a goat - I hope it is not a stroppy one.

Nevertheless here is a list of things that could be given to me that would give me the roaring heebies.

1 Clothes.  You are unlikely to get my size right.  If you did, it will probably be designed for someone shorter.  I am particular about colour, cut, fabric choice and pattern (generally no to the last point).  Essentially, I am a fussy fussy bastard.  Please don't buy me clothes.*

2 Books.  I have no idea what I am going to read next.  How could anyone else possibly know?

3 Small electrical kitchen implements.  Do I look like I am made of bench space?  I am happy with the current toaster.  I do not desire one that has egg-cooking pretensions.

4 Jewellery, scent, makeup, skin goop, etc.  See 1. re  fussy bastard-ness.  Further, I am one of the least adorned people on the planet.  I am clean and I try to keep my hair from looking like I just crawled out of a bush (its natural style, along with some seasonal fuzz).  That is pretty much the limit of my endeavors.  Take it or leave it people.

5 Cookbooks.  Now you would think you are on a winner here.  I have 2 shelves of them and I do like to cook.  Possibly a trap for new players.  The last two big, expensive cookbooks I have been given I have given away.   My shelves are full.  In order to take on a new book, it has to be more interesting and desirable than the ones I already have.  Not an easy ask.

Interestingly, I will probably get at least 3 of these 5.  Oh well, it is the thought that counts and someone will enjoy them.

That is one giant chocolate doobie for the top of the Black Forest Cake

*That being said, a friend's mother bought her something that didn't suit her so she gave it to me on spec.  I had a peek and thought, "not my colour: I hate sleeveless".  But I took it home and tried it on.  For exactly the same reason it didn't suit her it suited me flawlessly.  I wore it on a rare date with the husb.  He had to take a moment to get over my more sophisticated look.  He also probably breathed out when I told him I had not been out buying expensive ensembles.  This is the first time in my life (43 and counting) a gifted item of clothes has worked out for me.  It may happen again but I doubt I'll make it to 86.

Stained fingers and thighs

The early stage of the jam season is all dark fruit.  In the last week I have pitted 4 kilos of cherries and murked about with several kilos of mulberries.  Dark purple juice all over my hands, down my arms and over my thighs for hours on end.  It is a lot less erotic than it sounds.  It takes days to wear off.   I look grimy and the acid is not great for the skin.  The jam is good, though.  Back to a dry season and the fruit quality is up.

Mmmm, cherries.

In other news, the oldest monster had her first sleepover last night.  The husb. and I nearly died laughing as we fielded a series of questions and comments from the guest and Monster1 after the official bed time.

Apparently they were having trouble going to sleep and they trialed a number of remedies including changing beds, reading in bed, turning out lights, turning on lights and reading again, etc.  At no time did it occur to them to stop talking to each other.  We did suggest it.  Really, we did.

Meanwhile, their upsie-downie-ness and discussion kept Monster2 awake.  The poor little mite felt very left out from the bigger girls (though technically she is quite a bit bigger than both of the others).

We finally got a result at 10pm when we went for the old fashioned method of threatening the girls with moving Monster1 to the lounge room if they didn't stop nattering and get to sleep.

They were up pretty nippily this morning so I harnessed the adrenal rush and had all three out picking berries by 8.30 am.

Monster2 paid the heaviest toll.  She started her afternoon nap at 10.30 am on the sofa. She couldn't face lunch even though it included a salami sandwich (heavens to Betsy - a Christmas miracle).  We just decanted her from the sofa to bed to finish the job.  She was snoozing again through dinner time.  She will probably need an extra apple for breakfast tomorrow.

[Late breaking news - Monster2 is sporting a jaunty new virus, hence her sluggedlyness.]