Consorting with the enema

A few weeks ago I had to have a barium enema. It's not the most pleasant experience to have but at least it wasn't painful like the sigmoidoscopy, just rather embarrassing. I wonder if there is an enema fetish club? Maybe I could sell them my pics.

"Please turn this way madam, bottom in the air...fabulous!"
"Now the other side...careful with the tube!"
"If you want to let anything out just go ahead."
"Lovely....just hold it there for a moment."
"Try not to look so serious...excellent! It's a wrap!"

Porn for poo fans.

Once again it was interesting to actually see one's insides (this time in x-ray). "Of course it is very low-dose radiation, and completely safe," they assured me as they huddled behind their protective screen.

Afterwards I told Bert that the doctor had advised us not to engage in anal sex for a while unless he wanted to end up with a glow-in-the-dark dick. He looked quite shocked. "Really?"

No, not really.

Head case

So, I've had my hair done. It looks pretty good for an older, prematurely grey-haired woman with mad, dry hair.

The girls both noticed immediately and said how nice it is. No comment from Bert.

A bit later G (Bert's brother) turned up and said, "Oh! Have you changed your hair or something?" (He's one step further up the developmental ladder than Bert.)

So I said, "Yes, and everyone has noticed except Bert."

"Oh I noticed, I just didn't say anything."

"Well, what do you think?"

"What do you want me to say?"

Sheesh.

-----

Anyway, G wanted to know whether I'd mentioned him on the blog lately. He's only interested if there's an ego trip in it for him.

But at least he reads it occasionally. Bert was quizzed by a friend of mine recently at a party, after he'd admitted that he doesn't read this blog. She was astonished - how could you not read a blog that is all about you? "I don't have the time," he said, "And anyway, I don't need to read it because I know what I'm like." Pause. "She hasn't said anything about biscuits, has she?"

Hair raising experience

Cleverly combining the 'lack of compliments' and 'hair-do' themes of recent posts, here is a transcript of a conversation Bert and I have just had.

(Note: I went grey at a young age and usually dye my hair.)

Me: I'm getting my hair done tomorrow. Do you have any views on what I should have done, or are you indifferent?
Bert: Well, how do you want it done?
Me: I'm asking for your opinion.
Bert: I think you should have it done to please yourself.
Me: I'M ASKING FOR YOUR OPINION.
Bert: Well, OK, I don't think you should get it cut short. I think for older women, short hair is ... it's ... it can look a bit hard.
Me: What about the colour?
Bert: Oh! I don't think you should go grey just yet.
Me: OK, so there are some things that I shouldn't do. But is there any way you'd like my hair done?
Bert: I quite like it tied back actually.

(At this point I am momentarily speechless at the fact that Bert appears to have expressed a positive opinion, but sadly he fails to capitalise on the situation.)

Bert: The thing is your hair is very dry, so when it's loose it goes a bit...you know...mad.

Are you talking to me?

I just remembered that at that meal we had with my family Bert had very unusually and unexpectedly, in the midst of the tense atmosphere, paid me a compliment.

This is the guy who has never paid me a real compliment in all the years we've been together. When we first met, he said that my nose was almost perfect. But since then it's been a round of:

Me: How do I look? [whenever I dress up, e.g. on our wedding day]
Bert: Fine.
Me: What do you think of this dress?
Bert: There's nothing wrong with it...are you ready to go?
Me: Do you think I am good-looking?
Bert: Well...I think you're similar to me, neither good-looking nor ugly.

As you can see, I've had to fish for even these tiny tidbits.

Recently, a friend was a little concerned at the apparent lack of affection emanating from Bert, and said "Come on, I know you love her really, so give me ten reasons why you do". After squirming for some time, Bert finally came up with:

• Well, she's kind...
• ...And she's a good mother...
• ...........and............

After a further struggle, he suddenly said as if inspired, "I love her for what she used to be!"

(At that point I went to bed in disgust.)

So anyway, at this meal, he suddenly complimented me on my blue top, saying how well it matched my eyes.

I'm afraid my instinctive response was, "Are you trying to be funny?"

They say that a relationship can survive as long as you talk to each other. Do you think this counts?

You cannot be serious!

Actually, that last post reminds me that Bert doesn't just look like Krusty the Clown. The same mad hair thing gives him a passing resemblance to John McEnroe.

The first time Bert got mistaken for McEnroe was when we were in one of the theme parks in Orlando. A couple of pretty teenage girls ran up to him screaming, "It's John McEnroe!" Rather than disappoint them he went ahead and signed their autograph books.

(As McEnroe, not Bert. But imagine: you recommend this blog to all your friends, and they recommend it to their friends and so on, and suddenly it really takes off, and then an agent says Hey, this should be a book. And then one day, in Florida or wherever, some girls run up to us screaming, "It's Bert!!" ).

Anyway, the second time was recently in a car park when a couple came over and the guy said, "Hey, did you know you look just like John McEnroe?". We chatted politely for a couple of minutes and related the Florida anecdote, and then as they went off the guy said, "It's a real coincidence, because I look just like Liam Neeson." "Oh, yes, now you come to mention it...," we said.

But he really didn't.

When I started this post I was thinking that actually I didn't personally really see the John McEnroe thing. But I just did an image search and I suddenly got it. It's Bert!

(And the funny thing is, we're always telling him off for tucking his shirt in his shorts.)

Urdu?

Bert wants me to cut his hair.

In the century we've been together, I'm the only person who has ever had the privilege of cutting his hair. Actually, he's quite funny (funny peculiar, not funny ha-ha) about anyone even touching his hair. I've got one of these and every now and then I like to sneak up and have a go on Bert. It's quite dangerous though - he is liable to hit out before he can stop himself.

As well as being untouchable, Bert's hair is quite mad. You can't really tell from the Seine photo (and I don't want to put another photo up because Bert does have the right to remain anonymous - hehehe), but when it grows longer it starts to look like Krusty the Clown's ... (I tried to choose a Krusty image with a typical Bert expression. This one is just after he's made his regular order with the Agra, and is giddy with anticipation).

Anyway, I'm not sure I'm going to cut his hair until I'm good and ready. I've been asking him to come for a 'walk and talk' for weeks now, and he is always too busy (scared, more like). So he can grow a bit Krustier for a while. Just until he's a bit less busy.

He's never very grateful in any case. For someone who looks so Krusty, he is very fussy about the length and in particular always thinks I cut it too short. A couple of haircuts ago, he was moaning and moaning about how long the bits on the floor were looking, and wondering out loud whether I was scalping him. I was getting crosser and crosser, and so was he. Then Louise piped up, "Oh mum, that is quite short..." (it really wasn't in my opinion). So when he had a real go, I ended up lobbing the scissors across the room (taking care to avoid the children) and saying the usual "Fine, f*ck off then" type of thing. (I have realised since starting this blog that I need to use more imaginative language when we argue. And stop wondering why the kids swear too much.) Anyway, neither of us wanted to apologise so he had to wander around with half a haircut for a week or so.

(He gave in first.)