Mr Pearly Jones has an epiphany

“Look” I said, waggling a tiny carved stool with a woven rush seat under his nose while he tried to watch the cricket.  “It’s just like ours”. 

He rolled his eyes, “It’s too big” he mumbled, apparently finding the exploits of  Mr Broad, Mr Pieterson et al, more interesting.

“No, it’s exactly to scale” I protested. “One in twelve, measure it if you don’t believe me”. 

He sighed deeply and shook his head.

I rummaged deeper in the old wooden workbox where I have started to keep all my tiny purchases in readiness for when the Mini House is ready to be furnished.

I brought out a small wooden whiskey barrel and waved it excitedly at him. “See” I cried, “A small wooden whiskey barrel!”. Mr PJ sank further into our old battered leather sofa (yes, I have a wee one of those in the box, too)  and resigned himself to the fact that he has accidentally married a member of the Stating the Bleedin’ Obvious Club of Great Britain.

“How much did you spend on that?” he asked. Ah now, there was a question I wasn’t prepared for. I stared innocently at the polished oak object in my hand as if it was the first time I had seen it and was wondering just how it had got to be there. “What this….?” I stalled for time. “Oh, not much. I can’t remember exactly. Pence really.”*

[*Thank goodness for trusty Answer No.3 when confronted with uncomfortable queries regarding new purchases. Always a handy one to have at your disposal for use in such emergencies.

Although Answer No.2 - “It was in the Sale” is not to be sniffed at, and Answer No.4 - “Why do you always ask me that? How much do you spend on cricket/football/apps/beer?” is another useful one to have at the ready.

And of course, when all else fails, Answer No. 1, The Ultimate Answer, the trusty response known across the land and hovering on the tip of every shopping enthusiast’s tongue, which can always be trotted out when the Big Guns are called for…. “What? This old thing? ” thus confusing the accuser and concealing the truth in equal measure without actually answering the question.]

Anyhoo, I digress. There is a point to all this, so bear with me.

And never the twain shall meet....

The further I delved into the recesses of the box and triumphantly held aloft one tiny item after another; first, a hand blown Ray Storey turquoise glass bottle, next a tiny Victorian door bell, swiftly followed by two 1/2 inch high brass candlesticks, a teeny tiny travelling trunk and a small leather armchair, the more Mr PJ’s eyes rolled in their sockets before finally closing altogether, accompanied by a sound suspiciously like snoring.

It was almost as if he just wasn't interested. 

I'd had a funny feeling about this from day one, when I staggered up the garden path carrying the rather heavy, dilapidated and unloved Mini House in my arms, and was greeted by Mr PJ whose immediate reaction was "What the Hell is that and more to the point, where on earth do you think you are going to put it?"

I could tell even then, he wasn't feeling the love. 

And then, as time moved on and the dining room became full to the brim of small random pieces of wood, bottles of strange glues, copious books on dolls houses, and other oddments, he became more bemused by it all.

"It's a hobby" I protested. "Yes, of course it is" he replied, adding "you saddo" under his breath. 

And so we agreed to disagree. He likes his cricket and I like painting cocktail sticks silver* and glueing them to the inside of a house shaped wooden box. (*See stair rods) 

But this was all to change, for this weekend, my Mother came to visit and asked to see what progress had been made on the Mini House. I was otherwise engaged so Mr PJ showed her around.

Later that day, just as we were about to board a train, he turned to me and said "I think I finally get it!" 

"I opened the doors and saw the little staircases and the stair rods you had made, and think I finally understand why you are doing it."

I was absolutely delighted that he'd finally demoted me from Chief Saddo to Just Slightly Barking again. I had momentary visions of us becoming the husband and wife dream team of the dolls house world, him hunched over a bandsaw, me sitting beside him, happily fashioning something exciting out of cocktails sticks. 

But then, just as I was about to launch into a spirited and uplifting speech about what our wonderful joint dolls housing future had in store for us both, he wandered off to poke a half-melted cough sweet which was stuck to the platform, with his toe, before hopping onto the train and promptly going to sleep again. It was then that I realised the moment had probably passed.

There have been no further similar outbursts from Mr PJ since and I haven't tempted providence by showing him any more of the treasures from the box. 

I'm just happy in the knowledge that he is less likely to use the Mini House as emergency kindling now, should we run out of logs during the cold Winter months ahead. Like he once accidentally did with my wooden candle box which had been sitting next to the log basket....

But with next week's Miniatura fast approaching, I wonder whether he will still "get it" when he sees my shopping list.....