3rd January 2006: The Diva Performs
2006 may not be quite new born, but it is still wet behind the ears so I feel justified in offering the salutation of Happy New Year to all. With one thing and another this New Year’s Eve was something of a low-key event for us. In fact the last day of 2005 was an inclement day on several counts: the weather, I was starting a cold and during the night, despite subzero temperatures, someone ventured abroad to spray paint the words 'cock suckers' on the front door.
The postman got me out of bed at seven to alert me to the graffiti and to also recommend a cleaning fluid that removes paint from UPVC surfaces. He’d discovered it after someone painted his front door with accusatory messages about his marital fidelity (he suspected his ex-wife's brother who had never liked him) and then there was Twinkles. He chewed my head off the moment I said good morning to him. The full implications of a broken wrist have suddenly hit home. He can't shower, nor can he have a bath or even shave, wash and dress without at least a little help from me. He flung a fit when the top he wanted to wear wouldn't fit over the cast on his arm and he realised he would be limited to wearing loose short sleeved shirts and t-shirts, either that or cutting the left sleeves off all his favourite tops. Then it dawned that he might not be able to dress in full regalia, even if he wore a sleeveless frock the cast would look hideous and how would he do his undergarments, tights, corsets, tucking etc with one hand? Then there was makeup, eyelashes and wigs, which all needed two hands to do properly.
Of course it was entirely my fault (I might have guessed it would be) if I hadn't upset him before he went to work on Wednesday he wouldn't have been in such a bad mood and he wouldn't have flung up the shutters too hard and lost his footing. I sympathised with his predicament, but refused to be blamed. He then went into full drama queen mode and declared his life was ruined. He wouldn't be able to dress up or dance or take part in the Duplicate A Diva contest at the PP on Friday night. How many Divas’ wore thumping great plaster casts? None! They weren't glamorous. New Years Eve might as well not exist because he didn't have a new dress to wear and even if he did he would look a fright because of his arm. He might as well just stay in and watch Jools-hoote-a-flaming-nanny-Holland on the telly while wearing a shabby old dressing gown and a pair of carpet slippers. His life as a style queen was over. FINISHED! At that point he would normally have flung himself headlong on the couch, but because of his cast he had to settle for a less dramatic and somewhat undignified flopping down onto his rump.
He began to tuck into the family size tin of Roses chocolates, which Kevin, at the instigation of his evil alter ego Natalie (that Christmas Pageant winning poodle) had given him for Christmas in the hope he'd put on weight and look fat and frumpy in his frocks. He might as well just get frigging fat seeing as he had nothing new to wear and nowhere to go.
Sadly he's developed an ability to simultaneously complain while comfort eating, so my ears got no peace as he munched his way through the consolatory sweeties: it was the worst Christmas of his life, even worse than the one when I'd brutishly forbidden him to take part in the alternative Miss World Competition, which incidentally he would have won, because most of the other competitors looked like they ought to be trotting around the arena at the Crufts dog show. A right bunch of old barkers they'd been, while he was fresh and lovely. I'd spoiled his shining moment, as per usual.
By the time he'd finished raging I felt like doing a Scott of the Antarctic and walking out into the blizzard raging outside, either that or stapling his lips together and sticking him in a cupboard until springtime. Nothing placated him. He didn't want a cuddle. He’d rather touch tonsils with a Blackpool donkey than cuddle me. He met all suggestions with negative hostility and I lost patience in the end, sharply telling him to stop bellyaching. What was done was done and he'd just have to make the best of it.
He decided to direct some of his irritation at his work colleagues. He rang the shop to remind them the contents of the windows needed to be taken out, cleaned, properly mind you, not just a quick rub with a bit of old chamois, and put away in preparation for the New Year Sale. They were to leave a centrepiece of clocks in the watch window and a central display of larger gift items in the jewellery window. It didn't do to leave completely empty windows. It made people think you'd gone bankrupt. Twinkles’ boss, Don, tartly reminded him that having been in the retail jewellery business for over twenty-five years he did actually have some inkling about what needed to be done. He told Twinkles to have a nice rest and he'd see him after the New Year.
Things degenerated further when Lulu called to say he'd taken the afternoon off work and was meeting Kevin in town to look around the Sales. He invited Twinkles to join them. I could cheerfully have dunked him in a duck pond. Twinks jumped at the chance even though I voiced concern about him going out in the awful weather conditions. I was anxious about his cast getting damp. He brushed off what he termed my spinsterish fussiness and said he'd be under cover most of the time. He then took a deep breath and boldly demanded the return of his favourite department store card. Lu had informed him the store in question was offering an extra ten percent off all sale prices, as well as a buy now pay March deal for card holders. Surely by March all his debts would be paid off in full and all restrictions consequently lifted?
I bluntly told him that I didn't care if his favourite store was offering an extra fifteen percent discount plus a glass slipper and a Prince Charming with every purchase. He was not getting any of his cards back until I deemed the time was right. I reminded him I was still well out of pocket because I'd had to shore up the joint account he'd devastated in order to pay necessary household bills. I was not about to sanction him buying more fancy fripperies he didn't need? I also pointed out that while buy now pay later sounded attractive in theory, it wasn't because it meant buy now, pay the full amount in March or pay interest at three times the rate of an ordinary credit card. The only real winners in such circumstances were the store and the finance company.
I know my man and I know his tastes and they're not cheap. He’d spend a sum of money he wouldn't be able to pay straight off in a lump sum and he would once again end up in a debt situation.
It seemed as good a time as any to announce my decision to permanently ban the use of store cards. It made sense to me. With their extortionate interest rates they’re a financial disaster for people who are not rigidly self-disciplined about their use. Twinkles is one of those people. I didn't expect him to be happy with my decision and indeed he wasn't, but I was less than thrilled with his chosen method of displaying his unhappiness.
I was treated to one of his full Diva performances and believe me there was nothing at all glamorous or attractive about it. He went for a lavish full scale Grand Opera production. His opening act was to slam his foot into the coffee table with such force that it sailed across the carpet and docked in the lower branches of the Christmas tree sending baubles bouncing and scattering. It was only sheer luck the poor tree remained standing at all. It was the signal for him to abandon all vestiges of self-control and free his inner child with a vengeance, the rudimentary child with absolutely no conscience who will kick, scream and lash out at anything or anyone who crosses the path of its temper.
He went for me, slapping at me and pulling my hair with his good hand. I grabbed him, swung him up into my arms and swiftly transported him upstairs. Despite his struggles and furious attempts to lash at me with his feet, I managed to lie him down on the bed and turn him onto his right side, so his trussed arm wasn't crushed beneath him. I then got behind him, hooking my left leg over his lower limbs to stop him thrashing about and holding him tightly against me until his rage abated.
It wasn't long before I felt resistance leave his body. He lay submissively in my arms but I didn't loosen my hold, knowing from past experience that the apparent end could be just another beginning. Quite often if he gets deeply entrenched in a particular mindset he finds it hard to let go.
I asked if he were quite done and he nodded, so I slackened my hold. We were both trembling as adrenalin levels dropped off. I got up and moved across to the window, folding my arms and staring out as I grimly contemplated the situation and calmed myself down. It had been a long while since he'd given way to such raw temper.
He came to me. Slipping his arm around me he grasped tightly at the back of my shirt, as he sobbed self-condemnation and heartfelt apologies into the front of it. Poor love. He was still trembling. His nature demands he take the dramatic rather than pragmatic approach to any given situation, but he honestly doesn't like it when he loses all self-control. I put my arms around him, rubbing my cheek against his hair.
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