The first rule of Walking Club is that there’s supposed to be a President, apparently.
You see, when I recently agreed to go for an hour long power walk with my friend Mistress M, my husband got pretty excited.
“Why, you’ve got yourself a Walking Club!” he enthused. “Who’s President?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, somewhat bewildered. “How can there be a club and how can that club have a President? There’s only two of us.”
“Well, I formed a wine club with [MGK] at that barbeque the other day and I’m President,” he said, somewhat cockily.
“MGK let you be President??” I was a bit incredulous. After all, that didn’t sound like our friend MGK at all.
“No, not really,” he replied. “I voted myself in as President while she was getting more salad.”
“Have you actually told her that you’re the President??” I asked.
“Uh, no…” he said.
“Are you planning on telling her?”
“Probably not,” he said, wandering off to no doubt attend to some Important Wine Club Business, such as open another bottle of wine.
So much for the democratic process.
Anyhoo, the inaugural meeting of our Walking Club was some weeks ago and, to be quite frank, not a lot of walking has taken place since.
“How is your Walking Club going?” my husband asked me the other day.
“Good. Very good,” I replied. “In fact, the other day we walked into the backyard with a bottle of wine and then we walked back into the kitchen to get ourselves another bottle.”
[Mistress M and I had been celebrating the start of FebFast. Without actually talking about, we had both independently decided that the ‘fast’ part of ‘FebFast’ just meant that we had to drink our wine more quickly.]
“Anyway,” I continued – and, let’s face it, ‘anyway’ is a good word to continue with. “KT has asked me to go for a walk tonight!”
“Ah! A rival Walking Club!” my husband exclaimed.
“How can it be a rival Walking Club when I’m a member of both? That kinda means I’m my own enemy…” I trailed off because I realised I really was my own worst enemy. Just recently, I’d decided that I was going to take up potato printing as a hobby and, indeed, carve out the shape of a potato into a potato half so that I ended up making potato prints OF potatoes. Now, if that’s not a cry for help, I don’t know what is.
“So, who’s President?” my husband asked. We were back to that old presidential chestnut.
For the record, KT was more than happy for me to be President, while she took on the all-important role of Treasurer. Which was just as well, really, as I probably would just spend the club funds on wine and not whatever Walking Clubs are supposed to spend money on and then I’d just be playing straight into the hands of my so-called-husband and his so-called Wine Club. Shuh!