Roving Eye

PoshHubby decided that he must forbid PoshMum from ever driving again. Of course this was a delusional fantasy. He knew this. Such a prohibition, even if it were achievable, would only precipitate the immediate collapse of their well-ordered life as he knew it. He could no more take away her car than he could take her wi-fi link, her mobile phone or her credit cards. These were the tools with which she ran the machine that was their very existence.

But still, something had to be done. PoshMum behind the wheel was a hazard to herself, her family and the public at large. Actually, she was an excellent driver – but really only when not behind the wheel. From the passenger seat she was a tremendous driver and had never had or been involved in a single accident. “On long journeys” he always told his friends “we share the driving equally – it’s just that I do the bit behind the actual steering wheel!” It usually got a laugh.

However, PoshHubby had got used to PoshMum’s helpful suggestions in his left ear (or right ear if they were driving a hire car on the continent – say to their friend's in Venice). The real problem was PoshMum’s roving eye. When she was actually driving in the conventional sense – steering, pedals and all that – this was the real problem. As soon as anything vaguely attractive appeared in view she would gawp quite openly in that direction. Even when PoshHubby was right there next to her, she would have no compunction in drooling at every handsome thing that they passed. PoshHhubby would not mind but it always reminded him of how she used to be at home – what he had to offer once thrilled her too! Nowadays, it always seemed to be someone else’s fresh appearance that caught her eye.

Today had been the last straw. This time the car had actually swerved onto the pavement. The kids in the back had been terrified but PoshMum had been oblivious to their screams (and to those of the pedestrians she nearly annihilated). To cap it all he had distinctly heard her sigh - not just hold her breath in naked admiration but actually sigh! They had passed a particularly tall, broad and bold-looking one. There was an arrogance about this one; a pomp, a swagger. No words were needed; PoshMum’s eyes said what she felt and they spoke of untrammelled desire!

“So” thought PoshHhubby, “unless we can permanently avoid driving past loft extensions and other building works on the houses of the goodly burghers of Dulwich Village, the PoshFfamily were heading for a major accident – one that could be fatal”. Something had to be done.

“Be realistic” he said to himself “you can’t stop her driving. You have to stop her looking”. He had to make her remember what she already had, what was right in front of her here at home. So, with as much confidence as he could muster, PoshHubby reached for the architect’s drawings from the abandoned project of three years ago and laid them out on the bed. “She once got a thrill out of these.” he thought, “What girl wouldn’t? I know it's shallow, but tonight is the night that I win her back!”

It worked. For the next few months at least, PoshMum drove with scarcely a sideways glance. For the time being, she seemed satisfied. Soon the time would come when he would run out of innovative refurbishments but for now Mr Posh had his Mrs Posh back in his thrall.