THE SCONE
So it turns out the Mister and I are going on an all
expenses paid trip next week to an island off the coast of Africa. I bet that
got your attention as you’re wondering how the heck we pulled that off. Yes,
the good old rewards of market research; you know, my favorite activity outside
of watching the King count only using the number two (it’s adorable, although
recently he’s thrown in the number five just to mix it up a bit…two, two, two,
fiiiive).
It all came about when a research firm contacted me (I'm a regular, don't you know) as they
were looking for couples with one Yank partner– that would be me – to come in
and talk about air fresheners for half an hour. And for this, we would get paid
for our time and given tea and biscuits. That’s always the clincher when I’m
trying to sell these ideas to my husband. “I know it’s after work, honey, and
you’re exhausted, but there will be free cookies!” He usually sighs and comes
along willingly.
So we show up at this place in South London – another thing
I leave out when I tell the husband where we are going as his cells start to
shrink when we go South of the river – and they put us in a room and inform us that we’re being filmed. Of course when I am sitting in front of a large mirror and
I know a camera is behind that mirror, all I can manage to do is fidget, obsess
how crap my hair looks and wonder at what point in my life will I look well
slept (the answer is never; I’ve come to accept this). So the moderator is a
young, peppy guy from up North and he informs us that he is going to ask us a variety
of questions as if we’re on a game show, ‘Mister and Mrs.,’ i.e. how well do
you know one another and what’s your favorite this or that. I love this stuff,
so they had me at the word go.
He starts off with the remedial stuff, favorite color, where
did you meet, favorite hobbies etc. and then asks us both what is each others
best and worst quality, reminding us that we are still being filmed in case
this sparks some sort of domestic that he has to put out with a fire
extinguisher. My lovely husband managed to rattle off several of my best
qualities (according to the moderator he did this faster than any other
husband; which either means he’s very well trained, or the BEST guy ever) and
then stopped and pondered a quality in me that was less than stellar. I of
course was eyeballing him with a smile on my face, as I could see his brain
churning to spit out an answer that was on point, and yet, wouldn’t mean he had
to sleep on the balcony when we got home. The funny part is, after telling the
man I could be a tad controlling (Me??? Never), later on in the meeting, he went on to describe how
he planned our honeymoon, spent weeks trying to pick a hotel that was up to his
standards and then when he finally found one, said he was moderately happy with
it, but the view of our room wasn’t quite to his liking because he could see a
rooftop in the distance and it looked dirty. Controlling? Oh Kettle, how do I
love thee.
But the best bit was when my dear husband managed to morph
into someone I barely recognised; he does this sometimes in certain situations
(or when being grilled by peppy northerners) and he hysterically turns into
this incredibly formal, reserved individual. If you knew my husband aka, ‘Gregarious,
Goofy the Clown with a laugh like a Hyena’, you’d understand my surprise when
he turns into Tony Blair. So we were asked our favorite food and music. I rattled off my
usuals and was eagerly waiting to see what my husband would say when it comes
to food, as the man loves food. LOVES food. He rivals the King in his capacity
to eat, and as far as I’m concerned, he’s never met a food group he doesn’t
like, aside from some of the freaky Californian stuff I make from time to time.
So the guy asks him what his favorite food is and he just
looks at him and say, ‘I don’t know really, I don’t really have one.’ I of
course look at my husband wondering what alien had inhabited his body. He then
pauses, hems and has, and goes back to the fact that he really doesn’t have a
favorite food, despite me chiming in (controlling, me? Never) with all the things
he eats over and over and over in a given week as if its scripted. He just
silently shrugs like he is some monk that lives on the power of sunshine and occasionally treats himself to a raisin to really live
large. After several minutes the moderator finally pushes him for an answer and
he responds that well, he guesses it would be, I don't know...a scone. A scone: a hard
dry lump (that can be damn good when done right, but seriously?).
He follows
this answer with his favorite music being ‘melancholic music’ as if he’s
morphed into Nick Drake at a funeral who beats back the depression with a baked
good. Needless to say, I was laughing my ass off and could barely answer the
rest of the questions I was asked. To make matters worse, when they eventually arrived at talking about air fresheners and our most valued sense (of the five), my husband
informed the moderator that if he had to lose one of his senses it would be
smell (I about kicked him as the holiday I was convinced was hinging upon our
LOVE of smells and all things air freshening). I said I'd lose my hearing...happily. Oh the blissful silence! 'What? I can't hear you. Nope, still nothing...nope missed that too.'
Anyway, to our delight - and utter surprise - we were chosen to go and will be
flying to some island I cant pronounce to be filmed a half hour a day, talk about air fresheners
(I’m assuming), in between laying on the beach like two exhausted, pale…well,
scones.
And don’t you know I will be blogging about that when we
return.
