Not A Terribly Awful Day

Posted on 06/02/2023 @ 2:41pm by

1,089 words; about a 5 minute read

I went shopping today.

How many stores can you visit in one day? If you are with a woman, twenty seems to be a bare minimum. When Kreca told me that she would be wearing a black and green dress for the Patton/Feshau wedding, I took it for granted that it was a done deal and that she already possessed such a garment in her ample wardrobe. It turned out that it’s not the case. What she’s got doesn’t have the right shades. She wants acid green (which is very different from lime, she assured me) and liquorice (which is light black). In my book light black is grey. But hey, who am I to make such a comment? I only sold art for two years, whilst Kreca has been a true artist for two decades.

So on and on it went and the more I sulked, the more my feet hurt. Still, to see all those dresses, it made me think of the wedding. Of the delicious food they might have. Appetisers? Fried chicken? Salmon? Roasted vegetables? (to be eaten with great moderation). Cup cakes? Miniature cakes? Cheesecakes? Muffins? Tea cakes? Mini chocolate lava cakes? Doesn’t matter what they’ve got. I’ll eat everything.

At long last sweet Kreca finally found the dress of her dreams, and it had an eye-watering price. We almost had an argument there, because she expected me to pay. ME. Fellow Ferengi readers, you are most certainly like me and get stomach cramps when you’ve got to pay for something directly. It’s so much better to finance stuff through juicy investments, but of course this takes a bit of time. And time is always in short supply when you need it the most.

For the sake of my relationship with Kreca, I did pay, though the nose, and I sighed forcefully, which admittedly was more tragic than strategic. This is where I said, to myself but out loud, that I wished I was on holiday, far far away, where I could relax.

Curiously this didn’t annoy Kreca, on the contrary. She postponed her next quest: the buying of shoes, and she asked me to make a thorough description of my dream vacation, so that she could picture the place, and then paint it. This instantly became her new challenge and I had to submit.

We went to 32 below for ice creams (tomato flavour - my choice) and there I spoke of white-sand beaches, crystal-clear waters, sunbathing and relaxing in a hammock. “So boring, she told me. You won’t last five minutes in a hammock. You won’t even have the patience to make a sand castle. Why would you choose such a place?”

“If only you’d let me finish. I’ve barely started,” I lied, looking offended for good measure. So, for the sake of credibility (it is true that I can’t relax for more than 30 seconds), I added shipwrecks laden with treasures. Those would be stuck deep under the ocean and I would hire a team of divers to explore those wrecks and bring back to me the precious metals, vases and whatnots, that those long forgotten sea vessels contained.

Kreca remained silent for a few minutes, as she took ample notes and made various sketches on a PaDD, and then she looked at me baffled. “You would leave the best part of the treasure hunting to divers who might rob you blind and keep the best pieces to themselves?”

She thought I ought to do the diving myself. I’ll say, it’s just as well we were just imagining stuff because I can’t swim. Or rather when I try to, I float the same way that a brick does. This is truly not the sort of experience I’m after and I explained to her that it was due to a bad accident I had when I was a lad. I was exploring a frozen lake (don’t ask), and I fell into the icy cold water. For a horrendous moment there, I truly thought I wasn’t going to make it. That it was the end of my story. No more food for thought for me, only food for fishes. Luckily enough, a couple of outlanders - this took place on Volchok, a Ferengi planet - saw me going under and they rescued me, for free. I couldn’t believe my good fortune!

Kreca gave me the usual words of solicitude, she was glad I had survived etc. the regular stuff. But then she added that the accident should have prompted me to take swimming lessons. That it would have made me a better person. I beg (excuse the expression) your pardon? I’m perfectly fine as I am. Thank you very much. Everyone needs a few flaws, and not being able to swim is one of mine. I’m very fond of it. It keeps me out of trouble.

She gave me an odd look, said I was weird, but she moved on to her new project: my dream vacation, which, she decided, would be done in three sections. A triptych, I told her to sound clever. (She didn’t even blink at my superior intellect.) First would be the idyllic seaside, the white sand, little boats in the sea, fishermen, and in the background, a beach bar called Dune Preserve. She figured I would be there, wearing bermuda shorts (by all that is precious, I had no idea she actually planned to paint me in the scene!). I would be sipping some sake-based concoctions because I like all things Terran. (Never mind that I prefer black rum). The middle section would show a wreck called ‘The Devil's Reef’. It would be broken in two neat halves, resting on the seafloor; and a wide population of corals and colourful fish and seashells would inhabit the place. Through one of the broken windows, there would be a hint of the treasure to be found. Gold coins, gemstones, anything I wanted.

The third section would show a restaurant. On the spur of the moment I said it should be called ‘The Ministry of Seafood’. I like the sound of it and so does Kreca. After that we imagined what would be on the menu: raw fish that has been marinated in citrus juices, crab cakes and fish eyes. Tender octopus braised in white wine and paprika. Fermented squid...

All things considered, this wasn't a terribly awful day.

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