BASTARD

As conscientious blog readers will know, I set up an Elliptical Fucking Trainer in my office the other day. Aside from worries about whether I would ever get it assembled, and whether - if assembled - I would ever use the damn thing, my primary concern was how my husband The Architect would respond.

The Architect is a man of vision. Our home resembles a clean, white spaceship (or at least, in his vision it is. In reality, it's more like a messy white spaceship with Spongebob memorabilia scattered on the concrete floors, and Nutella smeared on the Improbably White Couch).

The Architect designed both the exteriors and interiors, and is very specific about what he will 'allow'* in the house. Minimalist white furniture is encouraged, despite the presence of three children and a bunny. Clear plastic stools are celebrated. A futuristic pod takes pride of place in the corner. And the dining table is made of steel and glass. Practical, I know. Sigh....

Wall hangings are few, and carefully chosen, and decorative items are sparse. At the beginning of our relationship The Architect even tried to limit the number of photos I could display to five at a time. Of course, I completely ignored him, but he really did try.

So given his delicate aesthetic sensibilities, how on earth would The Architect accept an Elliptical Fucking Trainer? It has no beauty, or designer features. It's a machine, and an ugly one at that.

But I wanted my EFT. I wanted it bad. And so I hatched a cunning plan. I decided to smuggle it into my office when The Architect wasn't home, assemble it myself, dispose of the packaging, and when he inevitably noticed it, pretend that it had been there for months. Sounds absolutely infallible, right?

I shared the cunning plan with the two older kids, and enlisted them to help. We practised saying "Dad, it's been here for months, are you going mad?" for a least a week before the EFT arrived. And on the day I brought it home, we practised again whilst waiting for The Architect to walk in the door. We were primed. We were ready. It was time to take him on.

"Hi," said The Architect, walking into my office and kissing me on the cheek. "How was your day?"

"Daddy!!!!" cried Boo, who had been standing on the EFT.

"Hi Boo!" he answered, and picked her up and swung her into his arms. "I missed you!"

Er... HELLO husband??? Are you BLIND???

"So what's going on?" he asked me again. I just shook my head blankly.

"Daddy, I been exercising!" said Boo. "On the machine!"

"Great!" said The Architect, leaning against the EFT. "So what's for dinner?" I scanned his face. No hint of recognition. No hint of surprise. NOTHING.

The big kids bounced into the room, ready to do their part. "Hi Dad!" they said uncertainly, waiting... waiting... nothing... nothing...

"Hi kids! Let's go play!" he answered. I couldn't take it any more.

"DO YOU NOT NOTICE ANYTHING?" I yelled.

"What?" he asked.

"THE THING YOU'RE LEANING AGAINST."

"You mean, our Elliptical Trainer? We've had it for months, right?"

I looked at him hard. And I had to admit. He got me. He got me GOOD.

I hate that Elliptical Fucking Trainer.

*I use inverted commas to represent his illusion that he is actually in control.