“When a woman wears a bikini, it doesn’t mean she plans to swim,” my late father used to tell me. “But if she puts on a wedding dress, she means business.”
Today I can add to his wisdom, dear reader: if a woman looks at lightly used cars or holiday venues on the internet, it doesn’t mean she’s determined to buy a car or go away for a few days.
But if she drags you off to a show house on a Sunday afternoon. Last week, I told you that the lovely Snapdragon wants a new house.
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I assured you I have no intention to entertain her latest desire. This week, I can confide that resistance is futile.
In a matter of days, she made her selection at about double the price of what I think is fair for a family home, she had an agent out for a valuation on our townhouse and called a photographer in for the ad pictures.
“It’s exactly what we need,” she told me when I objected. “It is?” I asked. “I need a new bond like a fish needs a bicycle.”
“I worked my backside off to get the house ready for the photographer,” she said.
I couldn’t resist looking to make sure.
“I’m extremely happy to see you only mean it figuratively,” I sighed. Which is true.
Snapdragon has a particularly attractive posterior and I would be devastated if she “works it off”.
“You’re a weird old pervert,” she said, but I could see a little smile.
“My mother was right – men only want one thing.”
“Not true,” I said. “I want financial peace of mind. But I also want a number 10 spanner. I left mine on the table outside and.”
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“At the new place, there’s a big room which is perfect for a man cave. You can keep your tools there.”
“There is?” I asked. “See,” she said: “You like our new home already. Now the only thing that stands between us and that house is getting pay slips from your office.”
“I can’t,” I said. “All the bean counters are on leave. I’ll get pay slips when they come back in October,” I said.
“No, they’re there,” she said. “I phoned them for slips this morning.”
I wish my late father was still here. I desperately need his advice. It’s a crisis!
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