1:48pm Wednesday 3rd September 2008
By Kahn Johnson
Here's a tip for any travelling salesman descending upon my house in the future.
If I happen to be outside, pegging out some washing, keep the smart comments to yourself if you're hoping on making a sale.
Similarly, when I look at my watch and mutter expletives about being late for work, take that as a sign that your time is up, not as a suggestion I would like to hear more.
The focus of my peeve today is a chap from Eiseman, a newcomer to these parts I'm told, but something us of a southern persuasion are accustomed to.
He strolls down the drive, following up his witty 'a woman's work is never done' remark with an enquiry as to whether the red top I'm pegging out - the one with the massive Carlsberg logo across it's chest, just under a large Liver Bird - is a Liverpool top.
Before bothering with any more banter, he hits his sales stride - only to be totally derailed by my knowledge of the company name, service and astounding lack of interest in frozen ready meals.
You see, I don't take kindly to being patronised by strangers.
My friends can make digs all they like about the fact it's The Wife who does the DIY while I do the laundry, but I learnt very early on in our relationship that while she can cook and decorate with equal ability, getting the right clothes cleaned for the right day was a challenge. One not helped by my assuming she could read my mind, granted, but that's not the point.
It made my life easier to take on washing duties, thus ensuring my lucky socks were available on match days.
Apparently, it also made me fair game for total strangers to look aghast at a man doing "women's work".
This was fine while it was my neighbour, because I used to delight in telling him that The Wife would be mowing the lawn at the weekend.
"You should be doing that. That's a man's job," he'd bluster.
"Nah," I'd lazily reply, "she does the manual stuff, I do the washing and watch telly."
And off he would go, shaking his head.
But that was our joke, our routine. And he'd known me for a while before he started. He hadn't started before so much as walking down the drive, as my new best friend did.
I should, of course, have set Scamp on him - but poochio was fast asleep following his morning constitutional and post-walk saussie.
And you'd have to be as thick as a travelling salesman to try and stir him after that.
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