Instruments of Torture

Well, we'll start with these. These are my new hiking boots. After waiting 15 years for my Vasques to get comfortable, I finally gave up and bought these Asolos. We'll see how it goes. The big test will be when Simon and I, along with one of his friends and her husband, climb King's Peak in August. That's the highest point in Utah, an ascent that has been long delayed by the fact that it requires finding someone crazy enough to take the kids for a long weekend. Thanks, Moira and Robert, if you're out there. I will probably blog more about this little adventure as the time gets closer. I tested my boots yesterday on "hike-date" day. My husband and I do this every year. Way back in March or something, we sat down and bullet-proofed one Friday a month during the summer to go hiking together. As this day comes closer each month, it turns into a minor game of marital Chicken. We are both secretly thinking, "Oh, geeze, I have way too much to do at work. What about that deadline?" But niether of us is going to be the workaholic killjoy jerk to corrupt the sanctity of the "hike-date". (Which is a good thing, really.) This time, due to the imminent arrival of the in-laws from England, we just did a quick out-and-back in Little Cottonwood Canyon, close to home.

You can just about see me curled up on a boulder a the base of the Pfeiferhorn.

To those blog-buddies who aren't from Salt Lake City, there are a lot of weird thing about living in Utah, (another blog topic) and the awesome outside play opportunities just about makes up for them. To those blog buddies that are from Utah, this is the Red Pine drainage when it veers off to the Maybird Lakes.

This was a good way to charge up for the coming onslaught of the OTHER instruments of torture, Peggy and Terry, who will be staying with us for three weeks.

Now, Im not the kind of person who would dislike someone just because hundreds of years of tradition back me up. I like almost everybody. In fact, I used to like them a lot... until I figured out that they REALLY couldn't stand me.

A selection of reasons (by no means exhaustive) that they drive me nuts:

1. They snoop through our stuff when we're not at home. She does this to Simon's brother, too. When she finds something interesting that she wants to tell people about, she claims she found it while "dusting inside the drawer".

2. They don't like to do anything. If we plan things, they go along ("Whatever you like. We're easy.), but don't participate. "We'll just watch." If we don't plan things, they just sit. We don't have TV (except a video/DVD player), so they look out the window.

3. They are fairly open about how these visits are a tour of inspection: of the house, the kids and us. If they find something they don't like (the expression on my face three days earlier, the revealing outfit one of my friends wore when she dropped by to see me, etc....) they wait for a little while (usually until the day before they're supposed to go home) (hotels being expensive and all), getting quieter and quieter...then BOOM, they let me have it.

They have even recommended that Simon divorce me, and advised him to start putting money in"secret bank accounts".

There was a big explosion when they came to visit in 2003, and they didn't come again until 2006. That was the year after we moved out of our cabin in Brighton and bought a "normal" house in the suburbs. They were much happier, since we had giving up our "strange" lifestyle and were living somewhere more appropriate. We also kept them sedated last year. Since it was the Soccer World Cup, we got Dish Network; they watched 2 or 3 soccer matches every day. Perfect. We cancelled Dish Network after the World Cup was over and they had gone home. If you've ever tried to cancel Dish Network, you'll know why we didn't opt for this again this summer. We're going to try to make a go of it without TV.

I will try to be good. Tempted as I am to rustle up sufficient sex toys so I could put one in every drawer, I won't. Simon asked me not to. I won't talk about my work. They don't like immigrants and don't like to hear about them (Those Paki chappies...those Chinkie chappies...those blackie chappies...they're taking over!). My modus operandi is...vacuousness. I answer questions...neutrally. I gaze at Simon...adoringly, perhaps with a wifely hand on his shoulder. And if I'm lucky, we'll all make it through alive.