Living On Three Continents: Chandelier
…If your man is being generous, showing evidence of hard work and caring, accept it with a smile. He could be out gambling, watching cricket, or behaving like a politician…
In this delicious tale the inimitable Susan Siddeley tells of the day an uninvited chandelier arrived in one lady’s life.
To read more of Susan’s words please click on http://www.openwriting.com/archives/living_on_three_continents/
I swept them up with a sloop; four sparkly, multifaceted glass beads, useless as far as I could tell. Whizzing around with the vacuum so that I could get off to my bridge game, I was too busy to ponder the matter.
Of course, I regretted my presumption later. In fact the saga was so long playing out by the time I saw the chandelier above our modest dining table I didn’t connect the four bits with the shimmering elegance of the multi-layered light fitting winking above the Corningware. Our dining table, imitation oak Formica, stands in the short bit of the L off the living room of our side-split.
“What on earth is it?” I gasped, when Jim took off the blindfold before dinner one might three months or so after the sweep up.
“A chandelier,” said Jim.
“I can see that,” I snapped, without warrant really, but as with most women I know, I can think five times faster than anyone I live with.
“I mean what on earth is it doing here?” I raised my arm to shield my eyes from the glare.
Actually my previous remark is not quite true. My daughter can also think on her feet and rearrange male fumble into coherence.
“It’s a surprise,” he said. I remained silent, “For our anniversary,” he said, unexpectedly forging ahead and filling the white space.
“But that was months ago! And if you remember I was pretty pissed off you forgot.”
“I know, I know.” Jim can be so bloody patient. “But, the thing is, bits were missing.”
“You could have taken it back. Well, you still can. And while you’re there, you can change it for a nice bedside lamp.”
“Oh, but I didn’t get it from a shop. I found it, in the garbage, broken and in pieces, when the Desjardins - you know, from down the street - when they moved.”
“I remember the Desjardins,” I said. “Stuck up so and so’s. But that was also ages ago.”
“I know, I know.” Jim does have limited vocabulary skills, but then, what his mind lacks in nimblicity, his fingers more than make up for in the DIY department.
“Anyway,” I said, “the Desjardins’ house is enormous. They probably had it in that great room they built. A chandelier might have looked regal there, but it looks daft here. And I don’t know as I want French crystal above my dinette.”
“But, it’s beautiful ... ma cherie.” Jim added, with a wink. “The thing is, when I put it back together, I had to trail all over to replace the missing bits. That’s why it’s taken so long to mend. In fact you probably can’t see, but there are still four pieces missing.
And that’s when I decided to do what an article in Better Women advised in its Spring issue. If your man is being generous, showing evidence of hard work and caring, accept it with a smile. He could be out gambling, watching cricket, or behaving like a politician. If he’s persistent - as men can be when left alone going over the Visa bill - he might remember things. In this case, that he bought the replacements, and that they must have disappeared in your domain.
I worked all that out in six seconds. So what could I do, but say, “Jimee, mon Napoleon, tu es tres nautty. Tonite iz ze night an afer we wil tok.”
