Do you ever have the feeling that you wished you hadn’t started something? Just as when you take a biscuit from a newly opened packet, to discover ten minutes later that there are only three left. Well, that’s where I found myself after taking delivery of a deluxe cross trainer; a piece of engineering with more composite parts than the rover ‘Curiosity’ currently exploring the surface of Mars.
My partner, on the other hand, had an entirely different attitude. Handing him the instruction leaflet, he barely glanced at it before jauntily screwing it up and launching it at the bin with the words:
‘I don’t need that. Leave it to me. I’ll have this up in no time.’
Once again the males’ genetic predisposition to think they know everything had reared its ugly head. The same head that allows them to drive around a ring road for three hours before getting you to ask for directions.
Warning: Hubris can lead to incapacitation.
I heeded his words and left him to it.
Five hours later, I returned all fired up with enthusiasm for my first workout. The anticipation was almost unbearable as I opened the door to the lounge for my first glimpse of the newly constructed exercise machine. Instead, a metallic creature resembling the ED-209 enforcement droid, from ‘Robocop’, stood in its place.
Like an England goal keeper on a penalty shoot out, I flung myself behind the settee to resist the order: ’10 seconds to comply’, and the possibility of being shot to smithereens. Down on all fours, I screamed as I saw the bottom half of a body slumped over the kitchen bin. My heart raced and I feared the worst. Suddenly, the body jerked upright, turned to face me and muttered:
‘Where’s that bloody leaflet when you need it?’
This was a disaster – the fear of death by a psychotic robot was replaced by something much, much worse: MSBS – ‘Male Search Blind Spot’.
This disability renders any male useless to find that which is in front of him, unless it jumps up and down like a participant in a Rio carnival; and even that’s not foolproof.
The only known antidote to this situation is MOOTWALML aka ‘Move Out Of The Way And Let Me Look’.
In exasperation, I delved into the rubbish and immediately retrieved the crushed ball of paper. He snatched it from me in disgust before I had any chance to peel off last night’s pizza and the remnants from the cat’s breakfast.
Three hours later and after much mopping of a fevered brow and passing of necessary instruments, the metal monster had been transformed into some semblance of a cross trainer. It might even have been usable had five screws not been missing. It should only be seven to ten working days before they arrive.
We ate our meal sitting on the bed again that evening.
Will I ever get to use this bloody thing? My seven bellies are morphing into eight with the wait.
Image credit: kjpargeter / 123RF Stock Photo