the king and his subjects

It takes less that 2 minutes after I wake up, when I hear the word “please”. It only means one thing, I better get up really fast from bed or my beloved will drop a stink bomb worse that Saddam’s mustered gas (to quote Achmed the Dead Terrorist). It’s become a weekendly tradition by now. It means “woman, get me some coffee or else”. I oblige, not because I particular like to play the female servant, but rather to escape the smell. It has the tendency to linger for minutes. He knows it always work, because I run downstairs to fetch him a cappuccino. Two minutes later I’m back with a cappuccino, black coffee for me and some left overs of the ginger bread house. My beloved looks with contempt on the odd pieces of roof and chimney.

“I’m not going to eat that”
“Why not?” I ask in bewilderment.
“Some kid with dirty fingers have made that.”

He goes on to sip his coffee checking his google ranking. He looks pleased. In fact he looks like the king who is plotting a war against his enemies. One he is sure he will win. Because there is nothing like the element of surprise. Now I don’t want say this is what he is doing, but there is a striking resemblance.

Last summer, when we were in France, he took me to this beautiful medieval village, not far from Monaco. As we drove in through the gate, I told him I could live in a place like this - any day. He looked at me seriously and said,

“Sure, and when we do I shall become mayor. I will be the one that brought Internet to this god damn town”

That’s Reinout for you. Reinout for president?