CHAPTER 14

Dylan’s contract for Claudia, part 1.

So, new contracts. Just the thing. I already promised you one contract and now I am already agreeing to another. I don’t know how I feel about that.

Caveat emptor! That’s how I feel. Wait, once more with caps: CAVEAT EMPTOR!!!

Sounds so authoritative, Latin. I mean, you could probably have built the empire, ornate columns and all, with just the lingo. In much the same way that French gives off that imperceptible balance of sexiness and disdain, I get the feeling that even mentioning cleaning the toilet in Latin loudly enough would somehow conjure up images of Anthony Hopkins sharpening a vintage paring knife in a distant mansion’s private library.

PLACERE MUNDATIS LATRINA!!!

Ah, maybe I’m wrong. That should be part of the contractual obligation as well, I guess. Admitting my fault.

I am severely wrong.

(sad face)

EGO SUM SEVERE (pauses, clasps toga over chest, glares at Senate) … INIURIAM!!

All RIIIGGHT!! Even the stupid Caesarean salad days of this lingo are helping me with what is going to be tough. Law. Contract.

So, in the interest of things being fair at the outset before you move into my leaky, creaky 140-year-old home, I will try and put forward the terms of a contract. Seems like a good excuse to look at the tenets of contract law.

Contract law. Ahem. (Googles quickly.)

Anyhoo. A quick revision of my anti-net stance and some judicious use of ctrl + V shows us that contract law is about regulations directed towards enforcing certain promises.

So, certain promises.

1. I promise (sighs deeeeeply, stares at ceiling) as long as you are in my house I will clean the toilet. Placere mundatis latrina. There you go.

And I will scrub without complaint! Not even in Latin, or its latter-day sleazy unemployed uncle, Italian.

And I will scrub without looking back on what I have done in that same ivory-coloured locale, not stopping until it is clean and clear and something which a clichéd Full Metal Jacket (I know you don’t watch war movies, growing up in a household so heavy on the X chromosome) -style drill sergeant would feel good about shouting at some hapless private.

2. I promise I will not say anything about how chores are divided in our household (70 per cent to 30 per cent me to you, just so we have it recorded in writing somewhere other than the census) when you are talking about how women are socialised to be the carer and placate in all their adult relationships. Because you are right! They are! It’s just you were too clever to fall for that.

3. I promise I will always give you a kiss at night when I get home, even if you are asleep, because I know it means something to you that I kiss you at night.

Hmmmmm, this is a lot of promising what I will do, while ignoring what can be equally important – maybe even more important, but possibly less important: what I will NOT do!

1. I will not try to fathom you. Because, as you so often like to declare when you have had five proseccos: You are not here to be fathomed!!

2. I will not remind you of melodramatic declarations made when you are drunk. Except for just then.

3. I truly, truly will not use a new towel every single time I have a shower.

4. I will not say ‘she seems nice’ every time you introduce me to a female friend who I think is batshit insane therefore making you feel like you are also going batshit insane interpreting a banal general comment as a vaguely misogynistic sledge.

5. I will not, ever, stop loving you.