The sound of the dog snoring and a sight of my wife online shopping. Just two activities I wouldn’t mention should our Austrian governess ask my six siblings and me to musically disclose our favourite things. As I embark on this narrative, though, they’re the current sights/sounds accompanying yours truly. Unwanted distractions on this odyssey of literary nirvana/nonsense (delete where applicable).
Seeking festive trinkets at the e-temple of the Marks & Spencer website, my wife Karen seeks out the pair of left handed*** socks I’ve mischievously requested as a Christmas present. Sporadically I’m distracted by my spouse’s frustrated sighs. Responses I imagine consequential of being unable to source my gift which (I assume) doesn’t even exist.
*** – I’m left handed, which probably accounts for my creativity/inanity (again delete where applicable).
I’ve not undertaken any research into whether left handed socks are actually a thing. However, as there aren’t any advantages**** into producing stockings specifically targeting lefties over generic dexterity footwear what would be the point?!
**** – That I can see
Selling left handed socks would be as pointless as marketing a left handed t-shirt or a pair of left handed spectacles. Subsequently, the only demographic audience I could envisage for the product would be novelty item collectors.
That being said, months ago I jokingly mentioned the idea to my mum who promptly exclaimed “That’s a great idea!….. I’d love a pair of left handed socks!”……. A comment made ever more surreal by the fact she’s right handed.
“So why have you asked your long suffering wife to seek out a non-existent product for your Christmas delectation, Gary?!” I hear you cry. To which my only defence would be purely self-indulgent mischief.
Rightly or wrongly (almost certainly the latter), I occasionally enjoy playing upon my wife’s endearing naivety. A rap sheet added to by the earlier idiotic yuletide gift request.
Mercifully, Karen generally takes my silliness in good spirits – Apart from once when she advised me “I’m not taking your silliness in good spirits!” I forget the occasion she felt moved to inform me this, but do recall she backed up her words by kneeing me in the testicles.
At the time of writing, the dog snoring alluded to in my inaugural paragraph continues apace. Our little house guest Sophie, the beautiful Cavalier King Charles spaniel, proving that elegant aesthetics don’t negate against the cacophonous sounds of slumber.
I’m in a dilemma about whether to wake Sophs up. On one hand I want to reduce room noise levels, assisting my concentration during this literary sojourn. However, if I wake our little canine buddy I just know those sad eyes will emotionally blackmail me out of half of my upcoming breakfast.
My problem just one of the conundrums faced when you’re so easily influenced by looks of melancholy or being subject to tales of woe. I like to think of my behaviour as selfless acts of humanity (or dogmanity in this case). After all, it’s a sad state of affairs if you can’t do a good turn for your fellow man/dog (yet again delete where applicable).
Others beg to differ, though, labelling me a sap, before walking off with my state of the art 50″ TV. A compassionate offering given after being subject to their story of worsening cataracts severely hampering picture clarity on their old 26″ telly.
