My husband has a special quality. It has served us well through the 33 years we've been together. We're not unlike Jack Sprat & his wife.
I'm obsessive-compulsive which led to six or so years of panic disorder in my 30s, given the OCD/Type 1 diabetes special combo that I am, amongst other things.
Al is the opposite. Totally 'she'll be right'. In him, it's bordering on over-relaxed disorder. Usually his calm counteracts my anxiety. But not right now.
Because, right now, 1pm, I am sitting in a hot campervan. Sick. And stuck.
You may remember that in an instant of over-relaxed carelessness, Al lost our passports & cash in Vietnam? Well, today he has lost his keys. Not the van keys. Our Australian house key - no big deal. But also the key to the bike lock. No big deal?
Actually, it is. We'd taken my bike into a repair shop today to get an inner tube replaced. We parked the van & Al locked his bike onto the bike rack on the van. We always lock the bikes up. His is locked onto the outer rim of the rack. Mine generally sits on the inner rim.
So we have our coffee while we wait the half hour for the bike repair. Al decides to go to the supermarket while I stay at the bar-tabac drinking gallons of tea cos I'm not well. (I was outside, BTW. Not spreading my germs, I hope.)
And somehow, in all that, he loses the keys.
I returned to the bike shop, which was closing up for a two hour lunch break, and in faltering French - my language skills falter when I'm on the verge of tears - & with lots of miming, explained the dilemma.
The bike shop owner got it. He'll be back at 2pm with an angle-grinder or hacksaw. I hope.
Ironically, on our return from Vietnam in January, we had to take Al's bike to our Melbourne bike shop to get the D lock cut off. Because Al had lost his house & bike lock keys with the passports, cash & credit cards. His bike was locked on our porch.
Forty minutes still to wait. Least it's not so serious this time. We will look back & laugh - when I can bring myself to speak to Al again.