And the seagull’s name was…

I think my wife is descended from a seagull. I believe this, because she exhibits certain seagull-like behaviour (No, she doesn’t make screeching noises and she doesn’t hang out at the harbour – at least, not as much as before). The specific characteristic that springs to mind is that – metaphorically speaking – she cannot resist crapping on a freshly washed car. Yes, it would be far more interesting if I meant it literally, but please note: I said metaphorically.

You see, whenever I have concluded any domestic cleaning activity, such as vacuuming or washing the kitchen floor, my dear spouse is somehow drawn to the freshly cleaned space by some kind of uncanny radar. She then proceeds to dribble hot liquids, smear sticky things or leave trails of crumbs – whatever seems most appropriate to the fouling of the surface in question.

Cleared spaces do not stay cleared for long, but rapidly fill up with newspapers, shopping bags, books, toys, cards, mugs, plates, underwear, food, miscellaneous bits of garden vegetation, shoes, clothing and things I would prefer not to identify. It’s almost as if she has a severe form of agoraphobia and can’t bear to look at wide open spaces, such as dining room tabletops. She is only content once the place resembles the town dump. Once again, I believe this is the racial memory of the noble seagull coming to the fore.

Of course, if she’s busy reading or otherwise occupied, she sends the sprog in her place to do the necessary. Kyknoord Jr appears to have inherited an impressive number of seagull genes, too.


19 thoughts on “And the seagull’s name was…

  1. My hubby has the same gene. In light of your post, I’m thinking of changing his nickname to Nelson (“…and the seagull’s name was…”) but I think the humour might be lost on him.


  2. Damn, and I thought I was just messy and clumsy. You mean there’s a real reason for this?! Can people with this gene fly? I mean other than if you push us off a high place…


  3. anne: Indeed they have. The youngster’s hand-eye co-ordination isn’t quite up to muster yet, but my dear spouse is an absolute pro.

    terri: I think you should give him the nickname anyway and let him wonder.

    michelle: So that would make your son and my daughter distant cousins?

    ZG: It’s too late for me. I’m just going to buy a set of blinkers and be done with it.

    Lucy McG: Of course you can fly, but you will need to do some preparatory investigations into the exciting world of recreational chemicals first.


  4. We call them, euphemistically, ‘piles’ at our house. Not to be cofused with sore bottom stuff.
    The piles grow and grow, like a dr seuss story…


  5. Love your writing style dude.

    What a way to open: “I think my wife is descended from a seagull.”

    You had me giggling from there.

    I will say, however, that there does seem to be some gender reversal issues in your house. How many times have we heard a wife complain like this about her husband?


  6. dan: Thanks. All sympathy gratefully accepted and milked to death.

    scott: Anyone who has names for drifts of householdia knows exactly what I mean (we refer to them as rat’s nests).

    IITQ: Thanks for the compliment. You’re absolutely right about the gender reversal thing – just call me seagull-pecked. Still, sometimes I really do feel like I’m letting the side down by not being enough of a slob. Maybe my wife is just trying to compensate.


  7. Hmmph yes my sprog also has seagull tendencies. I know you said I cannot possibly be anal but you MAY be wrong. I am slightly anal when it comes to the tidyness of my home. Daughter completely ruins that idyllic pic. Sob.


  8. Does the wife do anything in the house? Seems like you have domesticated that bird of yours! Time to let her off her perch. In fact, push her off. Kick her if you must. and if that still doesn’t work, threaten to pluck her. All birds love their feathers.


  9. For the gender reversal thing.

    Apparently, if the advertising business is to be believed, you can become more of a man by eating Wimpy or KFC.

    If the Wimpy burger ad is to be believed, you can join a community of slobhood by eating their “man sized burger.”

    Good luck.


  10. chitty: I wouldn’t worry about it at all. I think most people would agree that it’s ME who’s not quite normal here.

    bee: As the expression goes: “the world is a child’s canvas”, so try to think of it as suffering for her art. BTW, you can be anal if you really want to. I believe there’s a special on for the ‘Buns of Steel’ exercise programme.

    eKapa: I’ll give it a go, but if I don’t post here again then you’ll know that I didn’t survive the experience. Not sure if my medical aid covers self-inflicted injuries.

    IITQ: Ah yes. Imagine what the world would be like if the fanciful nonsense that spews forth from the minds of advertising executives was true.


  11. My first husband was the same way! It made me nuts. I would spend all day cleaning the house and he would be home for 10 minutes, and it would like I never did anything at all. It always amazed me how one person could create such a big mess in such a short span of time.


  12. shizgirl: It’s a bit like fire eating, or ‘gator wrestling. Raw talent isn’t enough – it requires commitment. I have a grudging admiration for that.

    paintingchef: But I’m guessing that your husband isn’t like me at all. Damn! I knew I was a bit of a freak.

    tj: Yup. Mrs K is one of a kind and has fans everywhere. I’m thinking of sending her on a world tour.


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