May 27, 2011


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.


"What?" he asked.


"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.


  1. Love it. You always make me laugh!

  2. hahaha Brilliant read!  I hope you and the EFT are able to negotiate a better relationship!

  3. See. We men always know. Always. Well. Sometimes. Ok hardly ever. But we love it when we get one over on you!

  4. You've met your match, haven't you? He mightt've learnt that one from years of  hearing "What *this* old thing?" and seeing the joint credit card statements.

    New mission: Start hatching up some new gambits to spice up your marriage. :)

  5. Alicia BatchelderMay 27, 2011 at 1:29 PM

    That's fantastic! lol.

  6. Ok, I've hidden new shoes in the boot of my car and smuggled them in with no box at a later date, but an EFT he'd notice for sure! Hahaha!! Great read!

  7. Uh-oh. The rot sets in. One EFT and before he knows it, you're home will resemble, um, everyone else's. Disaster!

  8. Oh I know. The triumph on his face!

  9. I've trained my kids to swear they've seen me in every item of clothing and every pair of shoes - many, many times before.  Then we all look at #1 Hubby is a disgusted manner, since clearly he has not paid enough attention to notice what I'm wearing.

    All while I shove the shopping bags in the neighbour's bin.

    I bribe them with donuts and Macca's soft serve cones just to keep them on my side and keep the sweet deal going.

  10. This is simply to DAMN GOOD to not share.. I'm linking this to my FB.. I have a couple &#(^$)# Architects on there that will get a chuckle out of this one!! Bravo!! 

  11. OR alternatively, open a secret bank account ;)

  12. Nooo,  he beat you at your own game!!  But does he accept it, i mean, he called your bluff, is that enough to keep it there or will you one day come home to find it gone & him saying "gone, it went months ago".  Oh, he's messing with your head Kerri, BIG time, love Posie

  13. Haaaaaah!!! I can actually picture that perfectly. But if you want to get one back over him.... take a photo of the EFT and put it in a frame alongside the allocated five other shots. Heh.

  14. He certainly is. I must stay vigilant. I will keep you posted.... x

  15. Bloody architects. Can't live with 'em, but don't want to live in a tent.... x

  16. That is the funniest thing I've EVER read!!!

  17. Yay! One for the brotherhood ! Ever since I met him, I've had a sneaky respect for The Architect. Now I see my faith has been vindicated. Well done, dude. I'm proud of you.....  :-)

  18. This is too funny!  I can picture it perfectly!

  19. Don't you know about the I-borrowed-it-from-a-friend routine. Only works when the 'friend' is in on it.

  20. I bought an EFT a year ago. I enlisted the help of Mr 10 to help me set it up, but we either lost a few parts or they were never in the packaging. (I choose to believe that version). It still does not fucking work, and one arm lies uselessly on the floor. It currently works as a clothes airer.

  21. I have one too. I thought it best to leave it in the shed and never use it (that's the husband, not the EFT!)


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