Man About The House

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Man About The House

I don't think that I could be labelled a hot-tempered woman. On the other hand, I'm certainly nobody's doormat, so what happened yesterday was totally out of character. If you don't believe me you can always ask Paul. He'd tell you that we hardly ever quarrel and as for the children I've never raised a hand to them. That's what makes the whole incident so bizarre. When I visited Paul in the hospital this morning he'd already begun to see the funny side of it and we spent most of the time giggling together.

It didn't seem funny last night. By the time the ambulance arrived, I was nearly hysterical. The only thing that kept me stable was my urgent need to get someone to look after the two girls whilst Paul and I travelled to the hospital. Thank God for my neighbour, Debbie. I can always rely on her to help. The remainder of the evening was like your worst nightmare come true. First the casualty department, then the X rays and finally the shock when they told us that he'd have to lie in traction.

It was nearly two in the morning before I got home. Debbie was curled up on the sofa when I let myself in. She said she'd finally got the girls off to sleep at ten. They weren't too upset, just excited at having their routine interrupted. I suppose at two and four years they're really too young to understand. It's a good thing they're both used to Debbie baby-sitting them.

As the occasion called for something stronger than a cuppa I opened the bottle of duty free whisky we'd brought back from Aussie and poured us both a large glass. Neither of us felt like going to bed. Debbie was dying to know what had happened. She sipped her drink whilst I filled her in.

Paul and I live in an old villa, which was newly renovated when we bought it. The floors have been re-sanded and coated with polyurethane, which brings out the beauty of the old timber so that it glows in the sunlight. It was one of the features of

the house which made us decide to buy. We moved in three months ago and have gradually collected some fine, old pieces of furniture.

Our lounge is complete except for a rug in front of the fireplace. As both of us are really keen to own a Persian rug we'd spent last Saturday looking for one. By the end of the day we'd had to admit that such rugs were too expensive. Mum and Dad called on Sunday afternoon and we told them of our disappointment. As usual Mum had a good suggestion to make. She asked why we didn't buy a Belgian rug for now. They were a lot cheaper but still looked good. Later on, when we could afford the real thing, we could put the cheaper rug in the girl's bedroom. I liked the idea.

On Monday I left the girls with her whilst I went to look. I found the rug I wanted in a shop not far from where Paul works. It was a pale grey- blue with a Persian pattern in pink and gold, just perfect with our colour scheme. I want everything to match. I pride myself on my flare for interior design. However, I didn't buy it because I've always believed that it's a good idea to involve your man in all the decisions regarding the house. It makes him feel important and, with a bit of diplomacy, you can usually get exactly what you want. I asked for it to be put it aside until Paul could look at it. He rang after lunch to say it was fine.

At six he arrived home and carried the rug into the hall. As it was tightly rolled in brown paper we decided to leave it there until we'd finished dinner and the children were bathed and in their pyjamas.

For the unveiling ceremony we sat the kids on the sofa so that they could watch without getting underfoot. Paul slowly tore away the wrapping paper and placed the rolled up rug on the floor. Even more slowly he unrolled it and as it settled he flung his arms wide, did a pirouette and sang "Dee Dah!" When children clapped their hands Paul turned and bowed. It was fitting introduction to our latest acquisition but

as my eyes travelled from Paul's head to his feet something snapped inside me.

There on my beautiful floor, in front of the lovely fireplace, was a rug. But, instead of the blue- grey beauty that I'd chosen, Paul was standing on a horrible khaki- green monstrosity. I don't know what came over me. I remember yelling, `Oh No!' Then I dashed forward, bent down and grabbed the nearest fringed end. I gave it an almighty tug. Remember the highly glossed the floor? Well, the rug came up in my hands and Paul went down with a terrible thump.

Debbie's a great friend and a kind neighbour but she always has to have the last word. This time it was, `Well, you certainly pulled the rug from under him, didn't you?'