Rings on Their Fingers

Ripped By mstoll

Darling, your egg is ready.

Oliver!

Oh, sorry, love. Couldn't get this through the letterbox.

Oh, a parcel.

- A secret lover, eh? - My birthday.

- What? Today? - Tomorrow.

Oh, well, don't open that until tomorrow, then.

- And many happy returns. - Oh, no. I'm 30.

You're never 30.

- Sssh! - What's the matter? Doesn't he know?

Oh, he knows, he just never remembers.

Quite frankly, this year, I don't care.

- Thanks very much. Bye. - Cheers.

Oliver, your egg is ready!

- Are you trying to kill me? - Kill you?

Yes, an egg is full of cholesterol.

It's absolutely fatal.

- You must be after my insurance. - Oh, really.

What's this?

Hm?

Oh, well, Mum and Dad couldn't make it tomorrow, so they...

Sit down and get your breakfast.

- I didn't even know they were coming tomorrow. - Well, they're not now, so make a start.

- What's that to do with this? - Nothing. Now eat.

It's your birthday tomorrow.

No, it's not. It's Christmas.

No, no, no, don't try and make out that I didn't know. When have I ever forgotten?

Would you like me to, er, check my diaries?

Oh, yes, well, all right, sometimes your present came a little late in the day.

Yes. Sometimes it came a little late on the day after.

All right, well, this year, you are going to get it on the morning of the day.

- Because I have already bought it. - It really doesn't matter, Oliver.

Why all the song and dance these seven years, then?

Get on with your egg.

You're not embarrassed about being 29 tomorrow, are you?

- Did you hear me? - I mean, 29 is nothing.

Get on with your breakfast.

Except that you are nearly 30.

- Oliver... - I remember when I was 30.

My God, I felt ancient.

Oliver.

Well, after all, it is the next giant step after 21, and you're only nine years off being 40.

- Oliver. - But 29 is nothing, darling.

I'm 30.

Now would you please stop chatting and get on with your egg.

- 30? - Come on.

- Tomorrow? - Yes.

What happened to 29?

You forgot to buy me a present. Now come on.

30?

You are 30?

Oliver, stop looking at me as if I'm Methuselah.

Oh, no, good heavens, I was just thinking you look jolly good.

- Oh, thank you, darling. - For 30.

No, it's all right, I'm eating, I'm definitely eating.

Cor, it's just that I thought I was married to just a slip of a girl of... 28.

Well, now you know, don't you?

You've suddenly aged two years, that's all I meant.

Oh, good grief! I'm not over the hill, Oliver.

Of course not. You're remarkably well preserved.

Anyway, you're 33.

It's different for a man, though, isn't it?

- Is it? - Of course it is. I'm marching towards my prime.

I see.

What am I marching towards?

Sandy, as long as you are marching beside me, I do not care.

How can I march beside you, Oliver, when I am marching downhill and you are marching up?

Super egg, darling.

You make me feel like getting out the Polyfilla and filling in the cracks.

Sandy, could you cut my toast into soldiers, please?

- You've absolutely ruined my birthday! - Oh, don't be silly, darling.

I'm going to get you... I've got you a lovely present and we'll have a nice meal out.

Don't bother.

A cup of cocoa and bowl of slops will do.

Oh, Sandy, please.

Well, who started it?

Yeah, all right, darling, I did, but I told you, it was just the surprise.

- You mean, the shock. - You're putting words into my mouth now.

I don't need to, Oliver. You seem to have quite a selection there already.

Right, well, I'll take them with me.

Oliver, your breakfast.

You eat it. It'll give you the strength to hobble through the day.

I'll collect your pension on the way home.

Oliver!

Morning.

- Oh, morning. - How are things?

Could you spare me a minute?

- Yes. Of course. - Come in.

Go straight through. Please, sit down.

- You're over 30, aren't you? - How did you guess?

No. I mean, seriously.

Over 30, dear, one tends to be serious.

Well, how did you feel?

When I was 30? Well, it was one of the two worst things that ever happened to me.

- Oh, what was the other? - The same date, ten years later.

Do I gather you're hovering on the brink of one score years and ten?

Tomorrow.

And is it you that minds or... your husband?

Well, we both do, really. He minds more than me. You see...

I was only 23 when we met.

But you don't exactly look an old crone now.

23?

You were married at 23?

Well, we started living together.

What? Seven years ago?

- Yeah. - Yes.

Oh, God. The seven-year itch.

Well, it doesn't have to be an itch.

With some men, it's just a minor irritation, which they don't even bother to scratch.

What about other men?

Other men? Well, I won't talk about my husband.

- Why not? - It might spoil your birthday.

Life can be pretty cruel, can't it?

Takes away my youth and increases his sex drive.

Well, you can fight back.

By making yourself that much more desirable to him.

I remember I bought one of those outfits you see advertised in the newspaper.

You know, all black lace,

some little bows, garters.

- What happened? - It made him laugh.

Well, at first, and then I could see he was definitely interested.

In fact, we made love before supper for the first time in six years.

Really?

Yes, it was all going splendidly, until one of my garters snapped

and caught him a stinging blow across the thigh.

Oh, something snapped with me, too.

We had a row at breakfast.

Oh, well, in the seventh year of being shackled together, you'd better make it up to him tonight.

Well, I couldn't buy one of those Folies-Bergére outfits.

No, no, of course not, but a little extra affection.

But try not to be wearing a dirty apron when he comes in.

Fix your hair. Smell nice.

Yeah. Yeah, I will.

Thanks, Mrs Crompton.

Oh, please don't call me Mrs Crompton. It makes me feel so old.

And we all know what that's like, don't we?

- Call me Myra. - OK, Myra.

After all, we're more or less the same age group now, aren't we?

Oh, good afternoon.

What?

Oh, yes, I am a bit late.

I've been fending off people for the past hour. "It might be his leg," I said.

- My leg? - I hinted at gout.

Oh, thanks a bunch! They'll be watching me now for signs of senile disintegration.

That's all I need when my child bride is suffering from practically the same thing - 30 tomorrow.

- 30? - I thought she was only 29.

- Wrong. - Yes, I know.

I forgot it was her birthday, I forgot she'd be 30 and I hinted at approaching old age.

Buy her a lovely present and she'll be eating out of your hand.

That is, if her poor old joints let her bend that low.

I've been looking for a lovely present. That's why I'm so late.

Oh, I've never been a good chooser.

As you usually forget, you don't get much practice, do you?

All right, know-all, how do you choose?

Ah, well, I count what's in my wallet, deduct £10 for drinking expenses and spend the rest. Easy.

Easy? I don't know what size she is. I don't know what jewellery she likes.

Even when I've remembered her birthday, she's changed my present.

- Well, can't you get her to make a list? - What? The night before?

It's Friday. Sneak off a bit early. I'll cover for you.

Take her for a stroll past her favourite shops.

Get her to sort of hint at what she wants.

A stroll, yeah, that's not a bad idea, Victor.

Yes. Play it casual, you know.

- Casual, you know. - Yeah.

- Do you really like that sort of thing? - What sort of thing?

- Mock surprise. - Oh, surprise, yeah.

Or...

Oh, my darling, it's a bit pricey.

- Pricey, yes, that ought to come easily. - Yes.

Especially when she stops me outside Lockwoods, her favourite jeweller's.

The sort of place where they'd be suspicious of Mrs Onassis's assets.

Hello, darling. Good Lord! Are you still in your dressing gown?

All right for some people. Lolling about the whole day.

- It's not my dressing gown. - Your hand is wet.

- Yes, but... - And as cold as ice. Sandy, are you sickening?

- No... - That's why you're in your dressing gown.

It's not my dressing gown.

My hands are cold because I was just putting some wine on ice.

What? Oh, darling, that was a nice thought. Very nice. Thank you very much.

Don't ever say I don't do anything for you and I don't think of you.

I think of you, too. I'll just have a quick glass while you get dressed.

Then I thought we might have a stroll round...

What are you doing?

If you get changed...

Would you rather sit this one out?

What are you doing?

- While the wine gets cool, darling... - Eh?

- The cooler the better. - Listen, Sandy, don't muck about.

Come along, darling. You must have had a hard day.

- No, honestly, I'm fine. - Sit down.

- It's just that I thought we might... - Relax.

- I am relaxed. - You're not. You're rigid.

- Sandy, please. I want to go out! - Don't fidget.

I'm sorry, darling, sorry. It's just that I thought we might have a stroll.

Where?

Ooh, along the high street.

The high street?

Yes, you know, just a breath of fresh air.

- Fresh? In the high street. - Yes. Why not?