Wheildon

pat was something else.  we had been in the dorp for some time, and crossed paths on many occasions.  i had heard that she practised reflexology.  never having heard of this ology stuff, i was sure that she was heavily into the occult and someone to avoid at all costs.  ginny kept telling me that i was an idiot and that pat could help me cure a sinus problem that occurred from time to time.  not bloody likely.  my feet were not going to be fiddled with by some loopy female muttering spells and curses under her breath.

time went by and, one miserable afternoon, i gave up waiting for potential property seekers to burst into my office.  the rain was pelting down so i quit and headed for home, a fire and a mug of homemade soup.

in the sitting room was a gathering of women, all chirping away and not noticing my entrance at all.  in their midst was pat.  she was drinking tea and eating biscuits like the rest of them.  she laughed a normal laugh, and there was no python wrapped around her neck.  to all intents and purposes, she looked quite normal.  then i spied a small brown leather bag on the floor next to her feet.  the hair on the back of my neck stood up and i guessed that tools of her trade were stashed within.

i was about to flee when there was a knock on the front door and in walked a pal from cape town on his way to his cottage up the main road.  he was greeted heartily by the women and responded by groaning and clutching his tummy.  the reflexologist, who had never seen him in her life, instructed him to sit on the stool in front of her and put his feet in her lap.  at this point i was about to warn him about dabbling in the dark side, but at a glance from ginny i backed off to watch.  i was sure horns and hooves were about to sprout from pat, and was interested to watch the women run screaming from the cottage with demons at their heels.

pat fiddled with the visitor’s toes for a moment and announced that he had a spastic colon.  the colour drained from his face and he admitted that he indeed suffered from the complaint.  pat asked ginny if we had any ginger.  evidently we did, and ginny was instructed to mix some in a cup of hot water.  my pal was told to down the brew — and within ten minutes was the life and soul of the party.  no horns, no hooves.

i was finished.  later, on her way out, pat gave me an angelic smile and thanked me for her booking for the following day.  while i stood, mouth open like a guppy out of water, ginny hissed at me to grow up and shut up.  she had had enough of my sinus trouble and asked pat to fix me.

she did.  i have never had it again.  ever.

i remember being treated upstairs in our bedroom one sunday afternoon.  ginny and pat were gassing away while she worked on my feet.  ginny's friend alex arrived and clambered up the stairs, complaining of a sore back.  i was dismissed, as alex was to remove her top so pat could massage her on our bed.  to cut a long story short, this was done so successfully that alex fell asleep, ginny went to fetch kate, pat had gone home and i was called out to show property — one of which was ours.  some thirty minutes later, i returned with the couple who expressed an interest in our old cottage.  while i was showing the young woman around, her husband climbed the stairs to inspect the loft.  he returned to announce that, if the naked woman asleep on the bed was included in the sale agreement, the house was sold.

i was contemplating an inspection of the loft myself when ginny arrived home.

what a pity.