Carol’s Column

Turning red after being in the pink

After a while, everything gets old and perhaps a little boring. Even marriage. You know, when that first flush of excitement vanishes after the first week.

This topic of conversation cropped up at my monthly book club meeting.

"Marriage is like a stale cucumber sandwich," said Agatha Crump. "You've got to liven things up, get those old hormones going again."

Bertha Ginkle nodded furiously, as she does when excited. "I have a range of different coloured wigs," she giggled. "My husband never knows who he'll see when he comes home from work. One night I'm Dolly Parton, the next, Demi Moore, the next ..." she paused to take a breath.

"Frankenstein," muttered Agatha, who is not known for her tact.

But Bertha carried on in full stride. "You've got to give your marriage pizzazz," she said.

My good friend Betty sighed. "I'm always too tired," she said.

I could only agree.

Sophie Letsoalo shook her head. "A marriage needs fun, it needs stimulation. It's like a plant without water. Give it a good wetting and it perks up immediately."

We nodded.

"Think of something totally outrageous and then do it," said Sophie sagely. "Your husbands will be amazed. And you'll be amazed at the difference."

I went home in a positive frame of mind. It's not that I have a problem, you understand. I don't really mind that my spouse pats the dog on the head and asks her what kind of a day she's had before he greets me. I don't really mind that he can't talk and read a newspaper simultaneously. And I don't really mind that the night I fell asleep in front of the TV and never made it to bed he didn't even notice I wasn't there.

Nevertheless, after so many years, I decided to surprise him.

Yesterday, just before he usually arrives home, I stripped to my birthday suit, leaving on a pair of takkies, poured half a bottle of perfume over myself and hid behind the front door.

I saw his shadow approach and then with a flourish, I whipped open the door, leapt into his arms and yelled, "Anyone for tennis?"

Except it wasn't him. It was Oupa van Tonder, our neighbour diagonally opposite.

He turned white with shock. I turned blue with shock.

"So, I see you're in the pink of health, Carol," he said, his voice trembling. His eyebrows twitched and I thought he might have a heart attack.

I bolted inside and slammed the door shut.

Just then, another car drove in. It was my husband and I heard him greet Oupa van Tonder. "Come in for a drink," he said, "Carol would love to see you."

"I've just seen her," I heard Oupa reply, "and I've never seen her look better."

Huh.

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