Who do you think should dress me?

‘I think we should tackle that thorny subject of lovingly obedient wives again.’

‘Oh, do you?’ I hear her say. I can’t see her, but from the small whooshing sounds I know Mrs B continues with the ironing.

‘Yes…you see I’ve read another of those really helpful articles reproduced from those wonderful magazines published in the 1950s.’ I’m hiding behind the newspaper I’m reading. ‘You dismissed the idea of doing all those things they recommended in order for you to become the perfect housewife, but I really think you should think it over.’

‘Oh, you do, do you?’ She stops ironing and looks across at me. I know, even from my hiding place behind the newspaper, she is looking in my direction because I sense it. It’s one of the few skills I’ve developed over the decades. Timidly, I peer over the top of The Guardian. At times like these I think my newspaper’s title is inappropriate.

If I didn’t know I’d think she was holding the iron somewhat menacingly. It’s as though she’s going to blow on the end, point it towards me and then whisper, ‘Go on punk, make my day.’

In my head I call for back up but there’s just the two of us in the house these days. Was there ever any back up?

‘So, what’s your idea of an obedient wife then?’

It’s a trap. I know it is. But love is blind, and I am me.

‘Well,’ I begin with almost childish enthusiasm, ‘You could wake me in the mornings, gently with a cup of coffee and breakfast; run my shower for me; then discuss what I’d like for lunch. Come the evening you could prepare me a cocktail before my meal is served. Oh, and the newspaper could be ironed, like in the olden days in big houses.’

Stupidly (stupidity being another skill I’ve developed over the years) I keep going. ‘And if I was going out that evening with friends, perhaps you could run me a another shower, scrub my back, dry me, shave me, and then pour me another drink.’

I respond warmly to what I believe is a smile on her face. I smile boyishly. ‘And who do you think could then dress me?’

Mrs B continues to ‘smile’. ‘Most likely person? The undertaker.’