Yesterday evening, reluctantly, we set off for a walk with the dogs in the cold. OH bundled himself up in his duffle coat, and (as often happens) wondered aloud whether he needed his gloves or not.
‘Do I need my gloves tonight?’ he asked.
‘Only you can tell,’ I replied. As usual.
It’s a bit of an ongoing game with us. You see, I am one of those hot souls who walk around in the winter with their coat flapping open, and he … is not. He feels the cold acutely. I am totally convinced he has Raynaud’s Syndrome but he flatly refuses to talk to the doctor about it. Maybe he thinks he doesn’t really have it unless he gets a Proper Diagnosis.
Anyway. He put his gloves on. As usual.
Off we trotted with the dogs happily trotting beside us – or in Sid’s case, kangaroo hopping. We got all of fifteen yards before OH stopped, and half turned towards me.
‘Is there … is .. Um. Have I got something on my shoulder?’ he asked, waving a gloved hand in the general direction.
I looked.
‘No, nothing’, I said, and if I privately thought it was unlikely that an arachnid with half a brain cell would be out after dark in the cold I kept that thought to myself.
‘On my shoulder!’ he said, flapping. ‘Something … ‘
I looked again, more closely. Both sides. ‘Nope!’, I replied.
‘Isn’t there something?’ he asked again, ‘I think there’s a Keeper!!’
I began to be slightly alarmed, on account of a) I could see absolutely nothing on either of his broad, wool clad shoulders, and b) the only Keeper I could think of which might be found in that location was the sort Londo Molari had, in Babylon 5. And trust me – you do not want a husband to get himself one of those!
I rubbed my hands over the whole width of his shoulders. Under the hood and everything. I lifted the hood. I rubbed again. Nothing. I said so.
Me: ‘Nothing!’
OH: (beginning to sound slightly agitated): ‘A button! There’s a button!!’
Me: (a tad concerned for his sanity and looking, fruitlessly, once more): ‘No! There’s nothing on your shoulders!’
OH (laughing): ‘You’re messing about, aren’t you?’
Me: ‘No!! There is no button!”
I thought.
Me: ‘Well, there is a button, but it’s on your hood. Right under here, by your neck.’
OH: ‘There is? What’s it doing there?’
I took a breath.
Me: ‘It’s for your tab!’
OH: ‘What tab?’
Me: ‘To keep your hood up.’
OH: ‘Nonononono! I meant for my gloves!’
Me: ‘?’
Then a lightbulb began to glow inside the murky caverns of what I like to call my brain.
Me: ‘Ooohhhhhhhh! You mean an epaulette! You’re asking if you have an epaulette!’
OH: ‘An epaulette! That’s what they’re called, isn’t it?
Me: ‘Yes!’
OH: ‘An epaulette.’
Me: ‘Yes.’
OH: ‘Do I have one?’
Me: ‘No.’
OH: ‘Where am I supposed to put my gloves, then?’
Me: ‘In your hood?’
OH: ‘But I never use my hood!’
Me: ‘Well, there you go then. Perfect!’
And do you know what was funny? This whole conversation was completely academic, because he had no intention of taking his gloves off in the first place! His fingers would have gone white.
But of course, he doesn’t have Raynaud’s.