Wanda says she wants me to get a hobby.
It’s her way of telling me she wants some space. She’s far too genteel to be letting rip with an in-your-face “back off, buddy, I need time to make hay with the ladies at the nearby village who’ve so kindly invited me into their nest for a girls’ day out.”
I suppose the obvious move would be to find a club of some sort for men, but I’m just not the sort of person who gets a kick out of a day on the tools.
Creative Wayne is less about a lathe, and more about finding ways to express himself on a typewriter. I don’t normally speak of myself in third person, but it seemed appropriate for the current cause.
You see, I have a couple of hobbies already. Call me unusual – others have. But I do like a spot of shopping. I’ve become an efficient trolley driver over the years, and in toe with my beautiful wife, I’ve developed a keen eye for a bargain.
Therein may lie some of the frustration for Wanda. I tend to mull over a shelf of discounted product like I was choosing a new pair of spectacles.
From a distance, they all look the same. But put them on and there are subtle differences that can make one’s face diminish into some sort of super-villain. Conversely, find the right pair and George Clooney’s getting a run for his money.
And that’s what I’m looking for in that bargain bin – something that will give the house a lift at a price nobody else has won since farmers traded pigs for chicken eggs and bartered their way to a beachside palace where coconuts were plentiful and an abundance of fruit was served without skins.
The problem is, all good fossicking takes time. And I’m in for the long haul, determined to find one morsel of lifestyle-enhancing brilliance similar to the packet of Maggie Beer gravy I once found for a solitary dollar, would you believe with a month remaining before it perished beyond its life of expiry?
When we’re shopping, Wanda usually has a mission. Groceries one day, shoes the next. Anybody who’s watched an episode of American Pickers however, realises that hunting for a bargain isn’t a planned activity.
Tables of discounted wares pop up at a moment’s notice, and the opportunity must be seized.
I once thought it a cunning tactic to invite Wanda into the homewares store to look at new merchandise while I trundled through the red tags like a bull to a rag.
Wanda will argue that there’s a flipside to the gravity which beholds me to a bargain. She’ll say I settle for second best, swayed by price over quality. She might even be as brazen to suggest I’ll buy junk if the discount is right.
Like someone caught up in auction fever, I’ll concede there’s an element of truth to her vicious outburst of hostility, which is where the discipline creeps in. Like a surfer waiting for the perfect wave, I’ll mercilessly discard items of high worth in search of those of a calibre worthy of Wanda’s mansion.
So, when Wanda says “you need to get a hobby, Wayne”, what she is suggesting is that I find a hobby that doesn’t intrude on her time, or her patience. I suppose I could shop by myself, but what would be the point of that?
I don’t mind a game of lawn bowls. I write. I read. I walk the dog. And I do puzzles.
Come to think of it, I have many hobbies. Maybe Wanda doesn’t want me to get a new hobby after all. Maybe Wanda’s merely seeking temporary reprieve, time away from a demanding husband, solitude without the whiney commentary.
Ah, I see. Is that right, Wanda? The smirk on her face says I’ve nailed it.
Now, where’s that jigsaw I bought for a steal?
