Page 42 Fixed Routines

                                                   FIXED ROUTINES.                                                         7-26-10

                                                          Roy Garde.

Morris W. Holley had been married to the same woman for thirty odd years.

Both of their children had already left home and they led quietly full lives and they had no financial worries and they were thus able to follow their well-established, comfortable routines.

On most weekends they’d drive out to their second home in Central New Jersey where they liked to laze around in loose, well-worn clothes and, if possible, talk to no one else all weekend long.

Morris strongly disliked gardening and would have had the whole half acre lot paved over if his wife would let him. To avoid having to deal with flowers and vines and, God forbid, vegetable plots and the like he had had grass planted everywhere and that had solved all of his problems except for the cutting of it.

His wife would nag at him when the mowing got to be past due and eventually he’d capitulate and get on with it but would then complain for days afterwards about his poor back and his aching muscles.

“If you cut it twice every month it won’t get to be such a big deal,” she’d tell him.

Morris also hated to get on airplanes and when his business called for him to go to Chicago or Boston or even as far as Quebec he’d drive there to avoid flying.

 His wife insisted on their taking a two week vacation in the summer and she wanted to go to a different place each time which meant taking planes to somewhere in Europe or Central or South America and, well, wherever.

In the winter they went to visit friends in Miami and that meant taking yet another plane and he was never happy about that. When he’d gone on too long with his complaining his wife would tell him, “If you went on airplane trips more than twice a year it wouldn’t get to be such a big deal for you.”

Morris ate only two meals every day. He had once read that if you eat breakfast at seven thirty every morning and dinner at seven thirty at night your whole system will function better and that theory seemed so reasonable to him that he adopted into his lifestyle. Because of that each meal became hugely important for him.

Getting his breakfast on the table on time was no problem for his wife. By getting up a half hour earlier than he did she could easily have it ready for him by the time that he came downstairs but dinner wasn’t that easy for her.

He’d come into her kitchen at around six-forty-five and he’d get in her way and start in on bugging her and when she could take no more she’d ‘escort’ him to the living room and as she did so she’d say, “If you ate more than two meals every day dinner wouldn’t get to be such a big deal.”

As you’d expect, their sex life followed a routine too. That one had been introduced by Mrs. Holley and it was – once a month and only once a month, no matter what. She had decided that the assignation would take place after she’d had her lunch on the first Sunday of each month but wasn’t to begin until three o’clock.

They wouldn’t go to New Jersey that weekend because Morris would feel too edgy to drive.

For breakfast on the big day he’d have oysters and then steak and eggs and after that he’d take a long gentle walk to get plenty of fresh air into his lungs and oxygen into his blood stream.

When he got back he’d begin the routine of, on the hour every hour, swallowing a half dozen various pills and capsules that their makers promised had the power to rejuvenate his essential systems and also supplied and/or supplemented the various fluids that were needed to make the act fully satisfactory.

He’d then run through several light exercises that were designed to strengthen his back and thigh muscles.

At two o’clock he’d take a 100mg Viagra pill and then he’d open up the Love Room and spend ten minutes adjusting the lights and the humidity and the temperature.

He’d then take out and brush down his uniforms and shake out all the furs. He’d polish all the leather straps and wipe off all the chains. He’d count and arrange all the handcuffs and ankle-cuffs and would then lubricate the rowing machine.

He’d check the plugs and wiring on each electric motor and then warm up the heavy equipment. He’d readjust all the mirror angles and then he’d select and cue up his favorite background music and instruction videos.

He would then run a test to be sure that the programs on his main computer and the auxiliary ones were ready to go.

He’d then spray musk in the air all around and would light the appropriate incense sticks.

Finally he’d make a last all-round check and then, on the stroke of three o’clock, he’d go and find his wife and escort her back to the Love Room.

She had no patience with the whole set up but she knew better than to do any complaining.

She knew exactly what he’d say.

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