Time waits for no man... unless he's outside a pharmacy waiting for his wife.....

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Urban legend has it that a recently retired lady living in Sedgefield woke up in the early hours of one morning to discover that her husband wasn't in bed. Hoping that he may be on the computer googling a surprise gift for their upcoming golden wedding anniversary (perhaps a trip overseas? or a cruise?) she sneaked downstairs to see if she might look over his shoulder and get a hint.
But no. Much to her surprise she found him sobbing at the kitchen table, his whole body heaving in wracks of desperate misery
“My dear!” she said, putting her arms tenderly around his neck, “What on Earth could be making you so upset?”
“Oh it's nothing,” he said, bravely wiping his tears away, “Really, nothing you need to worry about.”
But being the wife that she was she certainly wouldn't let it go there.
“We have been married so long that I can't bear to see your heart so sore,” she soothed, rubbing his shoulders, “Come on my sweetheart, you know you can tell me anything.”

“Well,” he started, “I was just thinking back…. you know, to when we were first dating one another, when you lived at home and your dad was still a magistrate.”
“Aaah yes,” she reminisced, gently putting her chin over his shoulder and whispering, “Those were fun times. You were twenty one and I was what…. only eighteen!”

In between sobs he continued talking, as tears trickled down his cheek. “And do you remember that night we went to the drive-in that beaten up old Ford bakkie of mine, and then, when I took you home, we parked in your folks' driveway and started cuddling…”
“Oh we were so young and in love,” she said, her eyes glinting wistfully, “I remember the windows steaming up, and how nervous you were that my dad might catch us. It seems like it was yesterday.”

But her words did little to calm him, indeed it seemed he was nearing hysteria...
“He did catch us! Remember he stormed out the house, pointed a gun through my window and told me that if I didn't marry you he'd have me arrested and locked up in prison for a double life sentence!”
“Oh yes he did, didn't he?” she chuckled, “He really was quite angry, and such a big man too… But … my love, why is all this upsetting you now?”
“Well…' he cried out aloud, unable to hold back a fresh flood of tears, “I WOULD HAVE GOT OUT TODAY!”

Now once you have finished feeling sorry for this fellow, or indeed his wife, you will surely agree that this little story is proof that TIME means different things to different people. Indeed I would even go as far as saying that time has different speeds for different people …. And, come to think of it, different occasions.

For example, if anyone out there shares the common opinion that 'time is moving much too quickly these days', I challenge that person to sit and wait in the car whilst my wife is shopping in a pharmacy…. Because I swear that's when time stands still…. For me anyway. Especially if I don't have a book… perhaps the full Lord of the Rings trilogy… or a complete set of encyclopaedias to browse through.

It's like sitting in some sort of solitary confinement torture chamber in the Australian outback. I swear I can hear my own heart beating… at one beat per forty seconds….

But in contrast to this, inside the pharmacy Mrs Ed feels that time is going at double speed. She insists that whilst she is sauntering up and down the aisles taking in the magnificent selection of perfume she can purchase, pills she can pop, potions she can partake in and er… all the other products she can peruse, time is just not on her side.

“But I was only in there for five minutes,” she'll swear blind when returning to the car to find me sporting a new beard, and putting the finishing touches on the full set of chess pieces I have carved out of an orange peel I found under the seat.

Of course the whole concept may work in reverse on other occasions. For example when we are at a party of sorts and, despite the fact that I am getting more and more handsome, sharp-witted and clever with every pint I drink, Mrs Ed insists on giving me her famous ‘One more beer then we’re going home’ look. Then, once we are safely at the house and she’s busy (roughly) hauling me out the passenger seat, she’ll start ranting and raving about how it took me three hours to finish that last particular glass of amber nectar, whilst of course it was only a matter of five or six minutes... or so...

But I suppose I can’t expect her to have any concept of time, really, if you consider the poor woman’s family.

Even a casual ‘let’s meet for a cup of coffee’ can turn into something so chaotic time-wise that I'm sure the Earth does a double take on its axis in sheer dumbfoundedness....

Take last week for example. I was going to rush through to Knysna one morning to get my learning-to-drive daughter’s scooter road-worthied (yes, fellow road-users, be afraid, be VERY afraid), and I happened to mention this to Mrs Ed.
“Oh good - we can meet my family for a quick cup of coffee,” she said.

Perhaps it was a momentary lapse in sanity, or maybe in my haste I didn’t hear properly, but I somehow agreed. After all, this family thrives on what they call ‘spending quality time together’.

Already running late, we arrived at a fine coffee establishment and sat down with Mrs Ed’s mother and sister. They smiled and waved because they were both on their phones. I checked my watch as my mother-in-law eventually finished her call, and was about to remark that it had been an impressive 25 minutes conversation when she stood up and said
“Don’t go away - I'll be back, I just have to go and....”

I can’t quite remember what she had to go and do, but I think it must have been ‘shear four dozen sheep and paint a lighthouse inside and out’.... and off she went.

Meanwhile the sister-in-law had finished her call, garbled how nice it was to be spending time with us, then asked if she could take our car because she needed to rush to the bank. Foolishly I thought she meant a local one, but evidently it was the Outer Mongolian branch of Barclays, so Mrs Ed and I were left to stare at one another for three quarters of an hour.

Whilst you will understand this was somewhat unpleasant for me, it worked for her because she eventually developed a headache, and could thus rush off to find a pharmacy.

The next two and a half hours were a combination of slow-motion (I stared at my feet betting against myself as to which blade of grass was growing faster) and a blur of rapid activity as all three women would rush back to the table at different times, then flitter off again, in and out - like some sort of handbagged hokey-cokey, pausing briefly to nibble at their carrot cake or sip luke-warm coffee - standing up of course “Because I must just quickly....” .

Eventually, after 2 hours 47 minutes and twenty seven seconds, knowing that work was piling up back at the office, I could take no more. At a very brief intersection in time when all three happened to be in the near vicinity of the table (one arriving, one leaving and one ‘just popping to the loo’) I leapt to my feet and insisted I had to go. They were heartbroken.
“So soon? It’s just so sad that you’re such a busy man, and always have to rush off so quickly,” one of them reflected. “Not even time for a quick social with the family,” another remarked.

“You really need to slow down a bit,’ said Mrs Ed as we got into the car.... “Otherwise you’re going to drive right passed Clicks.”
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Fear Factor (that's my daughter) on Face Book

Have you ever had one of those 'Eureka' moments (no that's not when an Italian lady complains about your body odour) when quite unexpectedly a mystery that has been confusing you for ages is finally solved?
For the past few months I have often had people bumping into me in town (I wish they'd make those bottle store aisles a bit wider) and stopping to ask
" How IS your daughter?"

Note the capitals? Not just a casual "How's your daughter?" , but more of an emphasis that seemed out of place:
"How IS your daughter?".

It's as if they are aiming some sympathy in her direction, which I find odd, because I'M the one who has to take her for driving lessons.

Knowing that Fear Factor (that's a nickname we have given her since she got behind the wheel for the first time) has had no recent heartbreaks, and is in reasonably good health (apart from what we can only assume was a brief mental condition last week… when she actually tidied her bedroom) this concern from people has been quite disconcerting and I have oft cornered her at home to double check that she is not missing a limb, tattooed her gums, or put a bone through the bridge of her nose.

But no matter how long I stare at her she seems just the same as the photograph of her I have in my wallet (I keep it there along forged boat ownership documents, in case I meet a prospective husband)

Fortunately this mystery was solved when we were traveling to the Mother City for her elder brother's birthday.

Let me explain.

My sister and brother-in-law were with us and we men sat in the front (so bro-in-law could navigate) whilst Mrs Ed and my sister sat on either side of Fear Factor in the back. Now the back seat does allow a reasonable amount of acreage for each passenger, but it certainly is somewhat lacking in the 'privacy' department, so when Fear Factor took out her laptop to 'update her Face Book status' there was nothing she could do to prevent her mother on one side and her aunt on the other from seeing what she was typing in.

Now for those of you who perhaps, like me, are not quite 'with it' when it comes to understanding what a Face Book status is, let me explain what I learned in that particular car trip. Apparently your 'status' is an announcement of how you are feeling, where you are, or what you are doing for that week… or day… or hour… or minute, depending on how often you update your Face Book profile.
For example one might put "Having a cosy cup of coffee with the girls" as a status, unless of course one has a jealous wife.

And whilst some might post a straight and simple status "At work", some get deep down and personal, no doubt forgetting that other people might be bored enough to read it. "Rubbing lard on the cat's boils and thinking of Tim. Wonder why he isn't calling?"

Now along with twenty seven million other young Face Book users, Fear Factor apparently feels an urgent need to 'update' her status approximately every twenty seven minutes. Because let's face it, if she didn't the whole world would deem her 'lame', or even worse, think she's got a job. Of course this frantic updating schedule presents a problem, because in today's world your status is the measure of your coolness, or lack thereof, so every effort has to be made to make it something with a 'Wow! That's soooo deep.' factor.

We had stopped for fuel on the outskirts of Cape Town when I heard Mrs Ed ask
"What do you mean by your new status 'Baby don't hurt me, don't hurt me no more,' ?"
She was understandably alarmed, glancing furtively around the packed car incase an infant with a knife had crawled in and started viciously carving up her daughter's ankles.
"Oh. It's just words from that 'What is Love' song," explained Fear Factor, "I always use old song lyrics for my statuses."

I suppose I wouldn't have thought anything of this conversation, except perhaps whether she should have said 'Statusi' but just then my phone buzzed with a message from a customer whose daughter who had gone through school with Fear Factor.

"Oh my. How IS your daughter?" it read.

"Hang on," I said to Fear factor "What do you mean you always use song lyrics"
"It's cool," she pouted, "It shows I'm a deep thinker - and you should see all of the lovely, caring comments I get!" she said, scrolling down her page.
"Like just yesterday - all the UK cousins sent me a message to say whatever decision I make, they'll stand by me."
"That's because of your status was 'Sometimes I feel I've got to get away - I've got to run away from the pain you drive into loving me'" Mrs Ed pointed out, once again reading over her shoulder, "Isn't that 'Tainted Love' by Soft Cell?"

And so it all started to add up in my head. It wasn't just the sympathetic looks and comments I had been getting from her friends' parents, but what about that strange email from the youth camp leader last week asking whether we might be influencing our daughter with some 'negative habits' we'd perhaps brought down with us from Zimbabwe.
"What was your status at about 10am last Friday morning?" I asked - and she quickly checked through. "Oh nothing really... It was just a quote from a Jimi Hendrix song called Voodoo Child," she smiled.

"And Monday?" I queried, remembering the rather confusing appearance of three giggling young men at our gate, nudging and winking and asking if perhaps somebody in our family had something special cabbage to sell them.
"Oh I had a lot of status changes on Monday I remember it was my Bob Marley day" she said, which kind of explained it all.

Between them Mrs Ed and my sister read out a sampling of Fear factor's statuses, all song lyrics and each one more terrifying than before. One really doesn't want to hear that one's daughter has been seen online as 'Born to be Wild', 'Oh just a little bit dangerous' or even 'Lucy in the sky with diamonds'.

"I think I've got the perfect status for you," I interrupted, not able to take anymore.
"What's that," she answered, obviously keen for input from someone who had been around before the old songs got old.
"It's by a group called Train," I said and the lyrics are "Marry me, say you will" .